


other plans

by MyCupOfTea



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bitty Didn't Go To Samwell, Everyone else did, Hockey Injuries, Internalized homophobia and the overcoming of: a fanfic, M/M, Not So Secret Food Expert Bitty, Secret Artsy Hipster Jack, unsupportive parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-27 00:07:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 33,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16691554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyCupOfTea/pseuds/MyCupOfTea
Summary: Eric Bittle is navigating his last year of obtaining his degree, after dealing with dropping out of Brown, coming out to unsupportive parents, working multiple jobs, and applying for internships. Luckily, he's got the money he won from his appearance on Chopped to cushion the transition.Jack Zimmermann is navigating his second year as captain of the Providence Falconers and first year as an out and proud queer man. With his friends and connecting with his artistic side, Jack hopes one day he'll be able to stop panicking over the "out" part and move on to the "proud". And maybe figure out who the guy he keeps running into is.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For the 2018 Big Bang. 
> 
> This fic half killed me. During the writing of, I moved twice, once over 1,200 miles, evacuated from a wildfire, been to urgent care twice, and started a new job. I'm not satisfied with it and I don't think I ever will be -- but there's some more moments that I couldn't get to in this fic, so be on the lookout for some more fics from this verse. 
> 
> Nanna @immahockeysticktoyou has made an amazing playlist with some really great cover art for this fic -- find it here (prettier hyperlink to come):   
> Spotify: https://spoti.fi/2PyCrAS  
> Tumblr: https://immahockeysticktoyou.tumblr.com/post/180219852507/alright-folks-so-i-did-a-thing-for
> 
> I hope y'all enjoy!

By the beginning of his third year with the Falconers, Jack is good friends with the loading dock at the both the practice facility and the arena.

He came out here after his first practice, before his first preseason game, before his first _regular_ season game, after losing game seven of the Stanley Cup Finals at home, after _winning_ game seven of the Stanley Cup Finals at home, and before playing his first game as an out man.

Which is where he is now, repeating a familiar and unsettling pattern by panicking right before a moment he's been leading up to for years.

"Jack, you need to ca --" Bob catches himself before the whole phrase "you need to calm down" gets out, thankfully. "You need to take a deep breath."

Jack tries. It comes out a little strangled. Bob sighs.

"Your team is behind you. Lean on them tonight, okay?"

Jack mumbles.

"Jack?"

"I'll try," Jack says, speaking up a little into the phone.

"Okay. Listen, I know we won't see you before the game --" _Thank God_ , Jack thinks. "-- but we're meeting you for food afterwards, right?"

"Yes. Text me the address. Love you."

"Love you too, Jack. Have a good game."

Jack hangs up the phone and stares down at the asphalt. He gives himself five minutes to mope before he has to go be a leader for everyone else instead of needing one for himself.

On his third minute of moping, his routine of panicking at the loading dock breaks when the door to the arena swings wide open. He whips around, wide eyed, feeling like he's been caught doing something he shouldn't. A blond man walks briskly through with his face set and determined, hefts the box next to Jack into his arms, and then walks quickly through the door before it has time to swing shut.

Jack blinks.

The door swings open and the man pokes his head back in.

"Excuse me, are you all right?" he asks, in a lilting accent.

"Oh, um -- yeah. Fine."

"Good," the man says, and leaves.

Jack tries to figure exactly what just happened, before checking his phone and finding he's only got a minute before he told himself he'd be back in the locker room. He takes one last deep breath, and then goes to find his team.

"You doing okay?" Rigo says, clapping a hand down on his shoulder when he walks back in the room.

"Yeah, just needed a minute," Jack says, attempting a smile. Judging by Rigo's face, it doesn't go well.

"Let me know if you need anything," Rigo says, thankfully not commenting, but giving Jack a long look. When he leaves, Jack sighs, and starts to get dressed.

 

* * *

 

The game goes as well as can be expected. There's a pleasant amount of rainbow gear in the audience, and he doesn't hear any homophobic slurs so. Not the worst game of hockey he's ever played.

They win, so that's a nice bonus.

Press is focused on Jack, which isn't as nice.

"Yeah, my parents were here. Uh, more because they always try to come down for the first home game of the season, I think."

"It always feels good to get ahead in the score early, so that's what I was thinking about after the goal in the first."

"Uh, yeah, it's hard to top last season but. We'll give it a try, eh?"

Once they finally release him he spends a long while in the shower. He wasn't lying; the game felt good. But he still feels the left over anxiety burning under his skin and sometimes the warm water will soothe it away.

Not tonight, it seems.

He eventually thumbs on his phone and checks the address his mom texted him, and calms down slightly. It's not a place he expects to be bombarded by people, and that knowledge gives him more peace of mind than he expected.

As usual, he's the last one to leave the locker room, except for the equipment managers. He runs into George on his way out, who walks with him on the way out.

"Okay, kid, be honest with me. How are you feeling?"

"Tired. A little stressed. I'll probably be relieved and happy tomorrow, but. Not tonight."

"That's fair," George says as they walk into the parking garage.

"I'm heading to grab a late dinner with my parents. I'm sure they'd love to see you, if you want to come?"

George laughs lightly.

"No, thank you. After this week, I'd really like to see my own family before they all go to bed."

"That's fair," Jack parrots back at her, cracking a smile. George rolls her eyes at him.

"Say hi to your parents for me. No run tomorrow, sleep in. I know you're going to be tired."

"Night, George."

"Good night, Jack. Good job tonight."

Jack turns to wave at George over his shoulder and catches a flash of someone with blond hair walking out of another door. He whips around to see if it was the same person as was on the loading dock with him, but the guy has already turned a corner.

 

* * *

 

The photography class Jack took in college did a lot more than teach him a few things about lenses.

It's given him a hobby, something to do to occupy his mind besides his worries. It's given him a new way to connect with Lardo and, surprisingly, Nursey, cementing those bonds long after they've left college.

In the ensuing chaos after Jack's first Stanley Cup run and what Jack still labels "the pity Kegster" of losing, and the epic hangover everyone else had the next day, talks had turned around to what they were all doing that summer.

"I'll probably go visit my parents. After that, I don't know," Jack said with a shrug.

"Oh, dude," Nursey had said while Jack was passing out hangover eggs, waving one of Jack's magazines. "Have you ever entered any of those contests?"

"Uh, no?" Jack had said, more confused than anything.

"Oh." Nursey rubbed a hand on the back of his neck. "I've thought about entering some of my writing into a magazine before? Just, it's the summer, so I figured I had time, right?"

"It would be good for you to get some exposure before graduation, yeah?" Jack asks. "I think exposure would probably do the opposite for me."

"You could probably use a pseudonym," Nursey said, shrugging.

And Jack liked that idea. Liked it a lot. Liked the idea of that distance between what he did and himself, an achievement he got to hold close to his chest.

So he and Nursey had a made a pact to enter something by the end of the summer. Jack had spent the summer wandering around Providence, looking for the right shot, only to end up entering an old picture he had taken during the season, of a cluster of trees on a street in Seattle. The picture faces Puget Sound, and fits the contest theme of _unity_ , the trees planted, wound together against the stark gray water.

It didn't get in, and neither did Nursey's submission. They both agree to hold each other accountable to submitting something else by New Years. Jack's doesn't get in again, but Nursey's does.

Ever since, they've held each other accountable. When Jack was trying to hammer out the details of coming out, he found a strange camaraderie in Nursey, finding out how to express their queerness in their art.

He brought Lardo in on that conversation. Lardo is the one who sent Jack competition he's basing his current project on.

He's currently searching for inspiration and coming up empty, but he's working on it. He's been doing a lot of wandering around Providence with his camera, taking pictures he'll eventually delete in a frustrated huff.

Still, Jack grabs his camera, double checks the strap, and heads out into the morning.

It's still misty, the late summer sun starting to warm up to the idea of fall and taking longer to rise. Jack takes a shot of the top of his building disappearing in the fog.

He walks to the park, tracing his normal running path slowly, letting his gaze room without settling on anything in particular. He takes a few shots gazing out along the river, lazy like his morning gaze.

Unfortunately, when he's looking at them later at home, the laziness stands out.

He ends up sending the first one he took of his building to Lardo.

_From: Lardo  
Nice. Gonna post it?_

_To: Lardo  
Maybe. Wasn't looking for something to post, was looking for something for the thing_

_From: Lardo  
The Perspective mag thing? It's a good shot_

_To: Lardo  
Yeah, not sure it's what I'm looking for though_

_From: Lardo  
Do you know what you're looking for?_

Jack groans and lets his head fall back against the couch. Trust Lardo to ask the hard questions.

_To: Lardo  
Honestly no_

_From: Lardo  
There's your problem bro_

Jack scrubs a hand over his face and sighs, before getting up to make dinner.

 

* * *

 

His parents stay in town long enough to see him off on the first road series of the season, and then head back to Montreal. Jack breathes a sigh of relief.

He texts both of them and Shitty as soon as he settles into the hotel room in Raleigh, before turning his attention to the old SMH group chat. They're arguing over carbonated water, and Jack adds in his two cents.

_To: SMH  
Seltzer isn't always awful_

_From: Ransom (in SMH)  
jack why_

_From: Holster (in SMH)  
i can't believe I'm saying this but i'm with jack_

_From: Shitty  
where are you now?_

_To: Shitty  
raleigh. my parents left today, thank God_

_From: Shitty_  
and they didn't come to see me, how rude  
what did they do?

Jack has to think about it before responding.

 _To: Shitty_  
It's not their fault exactly  
They're just my parents and they're concerned

_From: Shitty  
nah i get it_

Jack has to stop texting in order to get dinner, catered in the private meeting room downstairs. Tater is loud and carries the conversation, although he gets Jack telling the rookies stories about the time he and Tater got lost in Tampa Bay on Marty's bad directions.

He makes a mental note to invite the rookies over for dinner. It's his job now, with the C.

He actually finds that he's looking forward to it.

 

* * *

 

Jack had originally planned on inviting the rookies over and cooking for them, but when he tells Tater and Rigo, they have another idea.

"There's the food truck thing in downtown, yeah? It's the last one this year, before the weather gets bad. Katie and I went a few weeks ago. It was pretty good," Rigo says with a shrug.

Jack looks at Tater for confirmation he's okay with the new plan.

"I don't think Joey ever left Canada before, yeah? Would be good to take him around," Tater says.

"Let's do it, then."

The event ends up being a weekly gathering of food trucks in downtown Providence that shuts down a street for a few hours every Sunday when it's warm enough. They've put up picnic benches and flood lights, and there's a lot more people than Jack expected.

It doesn't take long for them to split into two groups, Gene and Dean going with Jack in search of a burrito, Joey going with Tater and Rigo looking for a particular truck that has Chicago style hot dogs.

It isn't until they're in line that Jack double takes. He's not sure but it looks like --

\--it looks like the guy from the loading dock is lifting boxes behind the next food truck over, a barbecue truck boasting five unique spice blends.

Jack actually steps out of line to check and see. He's not positive, but he's pretty sure.

Sure enough that he starts to make motions towards going over there, to thank him for checking on him that day. But by the time he steps around the back of the food truck, he's gone.

Jack frowns.

Gene taps him on the shoulder, making him jump.

"Cap?" he says, a little nervously. "It's your turn to order. You okay?"

"Yeah," Jack says, still looking towards the other food truck. "Just thought I saw someone I know."

"Oh," Dean says. "Want to go say hi? I can order for you."

"Oh, no, that's okay, thanks. Let's order and go find the other guys."

The burrito is admittedly delicious, if not the most nutritious thing they could have eaten. The new guys seem a little less intimidated when Rigo and Tater get Jack to be a little bit more like a normal person around them instead of a stressed hockey machine like he has been for a few weeks.

Joey especially seems to relax a little bit, which sets Jack at ease. Joey was the Falconers' highest draft pick and has unexpectedly been placed on one of the lower defensive lines after a few training camp injuries. Jack has been especially concerned, thinking about his own general stress management abilities at 18.

But Joey seems to finally be hitting his stride off the ice. Jack mentally shifts him into a lower priority box on his to do list.

All in all, it's a success.

The food is good, and they agree out loud that they would go there again, Jack thinking more about the man from the loading dock than the food.

Joey lives near Jack, so when Jack offers him a ride home, he takes it.

To Jack's disappointment, the mood suddenly drops back into the awkward silence it had been before that night. Jack tries to think of ways to break the ice but he can't come up with anything before he's pulling up to Joey's apartment complex.

"Well, thanks for the ride. And dinner," Joey says opening the door.

"Yeah, no problem."

"Actually --" Joey starts, closing the door again. "Can I talk to you about something?"

Jack feels something in his gut drop.

"Sure," Jack says, hoping his face isn't giving away his concern. "Should I park?"

"Yeah, probably," Joey says, sighing.

Jack pulls his car back out onto the street and drives around for a bit before parking on the street.

"Do you want to go find a coffee place or something --"

"No, this is fine," Joey says, taking a deep breath and letting it out slow. "Okay. I don't know why I'm so nervous about this. Um." He brushes a hand through his hair. "I have a boyfriend."

Jack blinks a few times.

"Okay," he says finally. "Did you want to, uh, bring him around? Because --"

"No!" Joey says quickly. "No, I don't want to -- I'm not ready to --"

"I get it, I get, no problem," Jack reassures quickly. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to."

"I just -- felt like I should tell you, of all people." Joey fiddles aimlessly with his hands. "I just --"

"Wanted someone on your side?" Jack finishes for him.

"Yeah."

"There's nothing wrong with that. But the team -- the team is a good team. They're -- we want everyone to be comfortable here." Jack pauses. "And no one has ever given me any kind of trouble whatsoever. Hell, Marty has been trying to set me up with his neighbor's son since I came out to him."

"Yeah, I -- figured? But everything is overwhelming right now and --"

"-- you're not ready. That's fine. It's a lot." After a lull in conversation, Jack has to ask. "How's your boyfriend dealing with all of this?"

Joey grimaces. "It's. Not great. We're doing the long distance thing."

"Ah," Jack says. "Never done it myself but."

"Right," Joey says, sighing. "He's at the University of Winnipeg, so he was thinking of spending part of winter break down here? But we have that roadie the week before."

"We have a game New Years Eve, and then two days off," Jack suggests. "And -- no pressure -- but the guys normally do something. You could introduce him, if you're ready."

Joey is quiet for a long while.

"I don't think I'll ever be ready," he almost whispers. "I know -- I know you did it. And that -- that was huge. For you to come out. But -- I heard Tater talking about that guy from the Habs. And heard the questions you get. The meetings you have with George. It's still -- so hard."

Jack lets his head fall back against the headrest. "Yeah. I know."

"I just needed someone to know. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Jack says. "I know, hypocritical of me to say, but -- don't be sorry. At least not to me. I've dealt with it. Talk to me about it instead of keeping it bottled up."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure. I can't promise I can answer, though."

"Why aren't you dating anyone?" Joey blurts, then blushes. "Sorry."

"No, it's all right. I just," Jack scratches the back of his neck. "I just haven't felt comfortable enough too. Maybe I will now."

"Do you think the guys would be okay with that?"

"What?" Jack says, slightly confused. "Yeah, they're okay with me being bi. I think they would be fine with me dating someone. Even if that someone is male."

Joey is quiet before he talks again. "I left college because my team was weird when I started dating. They were fine with me being gay before I told them about Andrew and they had to actually see it."

Jack frowns. "I don't think we'll have a problem with that here. The guys -- it's not just lip service here. They've really been great."

"Yeah, okay," Joey says, obviously unconvinced. "Hey, I'll let you go home. Thanks, Jack."

"Yeah," Jack says as Joey leaves, feeling unsettled. "Anytime."

 

* * *

 

Jack's not naive. He didn't think that coming out would magically fix homophobia in the NHL.

But, he had hoped that it would make it easier on guys like Joey. That they could exhale a little bit. Maybe take some comfort in that it's possible to be queer and win a Stanley Cup.

But it seemed like it hadn't done all that Jack had hoped.

Before he went to bed that night, Jack texted Nursey the picture he had texted Lardo, of the buildings in the fog.

_From: Nursey  
Not bad. But doesn't exactly scream you_

_To: Nursey  
I'm not trying to make it all about me_

_From: Nursey_  
But you're trying to make it about queer identity, yeah?   
That means it's about you

Jack rolls onto his back in bed, thinking about Joey. Thinking about Parse. Thinking about dating.

 _To: Nursey_  
I don't even know what that means  
in relation to me

_From: Nursey  
but that's what it's all about, figuring that out_

_To: Nursey  
yeah I guess_

Jack goes to bed that night, thinking about Joey and Nursey and what it means to be yourself.

Why he feels like trying to be himself still feels like acting.

 

* * *

 

Bitty is exhausted and aching.

He was _supposed_ to stop working at the food truck once classes started up again, but Jake hadn't bothered to hire anyone and Bitty wasn't one to leave anyone hanging if he could help it. Then he had had a group project, that he'd had to work on while waiting for various things to preheat and boil while working on food for the delivery service he ran with his roommates.

And then he'd gone to the arena, dropping the food off on his way, where he'd lifted boxes for a few hours before gates opened for that night's game. He still hadn't recovered from doing it two days before, which was worrying, but he chalked it up to not enough sleep.

By the time he's walking out of the arena, he's not paying attention to anything but watching his Lyft get closer on the screen. He's tired enough that he misses a few turns in a row, ending up by the entrance to the restricted players' area.

He finally looks up when he meets the unexpected security tape, and sighs before backtracking back through the arena to other entrance.

And _then_ his Lyft hadn't understood where to meet him so he had to trek around the outside of the arena, in the dark, with a whole bunch of fans leaving the game disappointed after a Falconer loss.

He just wants to go home.

And then he has homework to do once he gets home.

Graduation can't come fast enough.

He stumbles into the apartment well after midnight, yawning and trying to remember where he left his culture textbook. He has two chapters of reading that he tried and failed to finish earlier, plus an article he has to write an opinion paper about.

When he enters his apartment, his roommates are passing a bottle of wine back and forth while doing homework.

"Gimme some of that," Bitty demands holding out his hand for bottle as he drops his messenger bag behind the couch.

"Long day?" Jenna says as she passes him the bottle.

"So long," Bitty groans after taking a long swig and passing it back. "And I have chapters to read, and a paper to write for Jonesy's class."

"Ugh, Jonesy," Jerry bemoans. "How is he so nice, and so constantly disappointed in you at the same time?"

"It's the eyes," Bitty grumbles, digging out his laptop charger. "He's got those kicked puppy eyes."

Thirty minutes later, Bitty passes the laptop to Jenna and grabs the wine back.

"Can you tell me if this is too salty to turn in for a grade?"

"It's too salty," Jenna pronounces after reading it and handing back the laptop. "Hilarious, though. I especially enjoyed the part where you channeled a Confederate grandmother and called people who want less butter in pastries 'yankees'."

"I didn't say _all_ people who want less butter," Bitty says, aware she's not paying attention anymore. "Just people who wage a crusade against proper crusts without offering an acceptable alternative."

Jenna absentmindedly tries to pat his head in sympathy and ends up slapping him gently in the face.

"Wanna talk about why you're in such a bad mood?" Brad says, stretching and closing his computer. "I thought you were going to rip the hinges off our door. Again."

"That was so not my fault last time. And no, it was just a long day. If Jake doesn't hire someone soon I'm going to leave. He's not paying me enough for me to sacrifice my sleep for it."

Jenna makes a clicking noise with her tongue. "Just leave him high and dry, my friend. He deserves it."

"But I feel bad," Bitty whines, sliding off the couch and resting up against her leg. Brad starts getting ready to go to bed.

"He doesn't deserve your kindness. He's an ass."

Bitty sighs, not bothering to argue.

"If I go to sleep and set an alarm, what are the chances I'll actually do my reading in the morning?"

"None."

"Goose egg."

"Zero."

Brad starts heading for the room he shares with Bitty. Bitty sighs, looking at his paper. If he goes to bed now, he won't wake Brad up when he inevitably goes to bed at some awful hour of the night; he can wake up when Brad wakes up to start the morning shift.

That decides that.

Bitty saves his paper and closes his laptop.

"Giving up?" Jenna asks.

"I'm so tired," Bitty says, unable to keep a whine out of his voice. "Nothing I do tonight is gonna stick anyway."

Jenna looks at him pityingly. "Good night then, I guess."

Bitty barely gets his alarm set before he falls asleep.

 

* * *

 

Jack is still feeling a little off after the conversation with Joey yesterday, and the loss only compounds his bad mood.

As he's getting to leave the arena, however, he catches a glimpse of the man who spoke to him outside the loading dock.

He's just on the other side of the security line, looking at his phone with a furrowed brow. Jack recognizes the blond hair, and the sweet set of his eyes in his face. However, just as Jack decides to go thank him for checking on him that day (and maybe get his phone number) the guy looks up, seems to realize where he is, and quickly turns on one heel and walks away.

Jack leans back on the wall, disappointed. He's not about to chase the man through the arena. As he heads home, he wryly imagines that headline. "Jack Zimmermann Chases Man After Bad Loss, Obviously Cracking Under Pressure".

Yeah, he'll pass.

But the continued sightings of him along with the loss and conversation yesterday have him in a strange mood, even as he gets home. He checks his phone while getting food together for his after game meal.

_From: Shitty  
Tough loss. Can Lardo and I come down this weekend? Been too long since we've seen your face_

_To: Shitty  
Yeah, sure. I've got games on Friday and Sunday, you guys want to go to either of them?_

Jack hesitates, then sends another text.

_To: Shitty  
Do you ever keep running into the same person?_

_From: Shitty_  
Maybe the Sunday game, yeah  
Like, coincidentally? One time I ran into my third grade teacher in a sex toy store

 _To: Shitty_  
I'll get tickets  
No, like seeing someone you don't know

The phone rings suddenly and Jack nearly drops his plate of food trying to answer it.

"Hello?"

"Jack. Jack Attack. Have you been seeing things?"

Jack sighs. "No, Shits. Just -- was out by the loading dock before the first home game. And some guy that works for the arena asked me if I'm okay, and now I keep seeing him around."

"Is he stalking you?" Shitty demands.

"Uh -- I don't think so? He's never said anything to me and he always seems busy."

"Doing what?"

"He was picking up boxes at the arena? And I saw him after the game, near the parking garage. And then I saw him when I was getting dinner with the rookies. He was, uh, maybe working at a food truck? And then tonight, he was by the security line but he was walking away from me."

Shitty whistles. "That's quite the number of coinky dinks."

"Yeah."

"What are you going to do about it?"

"Nothing? It's just kind of weird."

"Well, he works at the arena, so that's one reason. You share a work location."

"That's true." Jack sighs. "Anyways. How's Lardo?"

"Good. Not thrilled at work but good."

"It'll be good to see you two."

"Yeah, yeah, miss you too, bro."


	2. Chapter 2

The next day, Jack wakes up early and sets out on a morning walk with his camera, determined to find something he could use for his project in the midst of the other confusing things going on.

He's up early enough that the streets are nearly empty, just a few joggers and bleary eyed people walking down the sidewalk. He takes a picture of a group of flags hanging still at the sports bar across the street. He takes the time to look at the picture before moving on, and decides there's some potential there. He crosses the street and stands just off to the side, taking pictures of the flags hanging limply.

Jack stays and grabs shots from as many angles as he can get without crossing the street again. He gets recognized by someone wanting his autograph, and he obliges, chatting idly with her about the game the night before and the youth hockey league she volunteers at.

The youth hockey league turns out to be geared towards underrepresented groups in sports and Jack is so interested his second alarm of the day goes off. Jack jumps, but gives the woman his agent's card. He's been wanting to get more involved in a similar organization, and this seems like a serendipitous way to start.

Jack walks with a little more urgency than his earlier meander, behind schedule and feeling hurried in a way he normally doesn't. So, of course he sees the blond haired man from the loading dock across the street.

Jack stops, checks his watch and groans. He doesn't have enough time.

He hurries back to his apartment, getting ready for afternoon skate.

 

* * *

 

Afternoon skate that day is hard, but good. Morning skate the next day is hard, but good. Warm ups go well, and Jack feels good.

So it makes the 4-1 loss to the Jets sting extra hard.

Jack gets dressed in the locker room before going around and checking in on everybody. They go straight from the arena to the plane and Jack doesn't want the defeated mood to carry on to the plane. Tater is already cheering up Snowy; added to Snowy's fiance waiting outside the locker room to say goodbye before they leave, Jack's not too worried about their goalie.

Joey is being cheered on by Rigo for his second assist in two games; Rigo winks at Jack from across the room to let him know they're good.

Gene and Dean are with two of their other defensemen, conspiring about something in low whispers. Jack doesn't know what's going on, but they're not moping so he'll leave them be.

By the time he gets on the plane, he's already confirmed that no one is taking their second loss in a row too hard.

Except himself, of course.

Before they're asked to turn off their phones, Jack checks his texts.

Both of his parents are sympathetic about the loss, but wish him safe travels to Nashville. His dad gave him the name of a restaurant that Jack is positive he won't have time to try, and his mom requests he sends pictures of the city, as always.

Still, Jack is glad his reputation as a grumpy fucker precedes him, and no one tries to sit next to him, although Tater gives him an inquiring look as he boards the plane.

Jack manages to sleep most of the way on the plane, and thinks that it looks like most of the Falcs have managed to do the same. They all split up into their hotel rooms.

By the time Jack changes into his pajamas he's too awake to fall asleep, despite the fact that it's getting close to two in the morning. He flips on the TV, hoping the white noise will help him nod off. Instead, he ends up focusing on the loss.

One loss is okay, and bound to happen. Two losses in a row is dangerous. Either you win the next day and it's nothing, something that's silly to have been worried about all, or you lose the next one and you're on a losing skid.

Jack doesn't like two losses in a row.

He thinks of the missed opportunities and bad luck that happened that night, how much he hates to have a pointless night when they lose, how he's more disappointed in himself than anything. He keeps thinking about his own failures right up until they mention the Falconers on the TV.

Jack snaps his head up, wondering how the TV ended up on ESPN when Jack specifically avoids sports and news networks after losses. The first thing he did, in fact, when he laid down was flip through channels until he was on one that wouldn't show anything hockey related.

But it's. . . still on Chopped?

Jack frowns.

And then scrambles upright, flailing as he goes.

Because the blond man from the loading dock is on TV.

Jack reaches across the bedspread for the remote, turning up the volume so he can hear.

"-- so the ten thousand dollars could give me the cushion I need to take whatever internship comes up," he was finishing, after the judges critiqued his appetizer.

"Thank you, Chef Eric. Chef Miranda, please tell the judges what you've made."

It goes to commercial soon after that and Jack doesn't think before he calls Shitty.

"What's wrong?" is the greeting he gets.

"Nothing. I'm --"

"Jack, it's almost three in the morning. What's wrong?" Shitty sounds more serious and urgent than he has in years.

"Nothing is wrong Shits, I'm just -- shit, it's three am? I'm so sorry --"

"It's Jack," Shitty says, muffled slightly. "No, he says -- he says there's nothing wrong. I know."

"Shitty?"

"Lardo woke up when the phone rang. Hold on."

Jack sits in mortified silence, although he pays enough to attention to know it's not Eric's dish that gets Chopped.

"Okay, we're good. What's going on?"

"Um," Jack says, embarrassed now. "It can wait. I'm sorry, I just got to the hotel and didn't realize what time it was."

"No, no, I'm up now. Just -- you freaked me out. I know how you get after two losses in a row, and I hadn't heard from you."

"Oh, it's -- okay. Remember the guy I told you about? That I keep seeing around?"

"Yeah?"

"I saw him. On TV."

"What is he doing on TV? Has he actually been stalking you and now he's revealing --"

"He was on Chopped."

"Oh." Shitty considers a moment. "That's actually cool as hell. Why do you keep seeing him around?"

"Hold on --" Jack listens as they spend a few seconds focusing on Eric. "He's -- he works for the arena. In concessions. And -- maybe works at a food truck?" Jack remembers seeing him at lunch. "No, definitely works at a food truck. And it's a student special?"

"Like only students as contestants?"

"Yeah. It hasn't said where he goes yet."

"Holding on, I'm changing the channel. Which one is he?"

"Eric. The blond guy."

"He's cute."

" _Shitty_."

"What? Don't pretend you're not at least a little into him, I can't remember the last you mentioned someone to me that you didn't know by name."

"I don't know anything about him. And I do technically know his name."

"You know that he's cute, he cooks, and he lives in the same city as you."

"And is going to school, and working two jobs." _Hard worker_ , his brain supplies helpfully.

"Bro, I can't imagine you with anybody who wasn't at least a little bit crazy."

 _I got into dietetics because I saw a lot of unhealthy mindsets about food,_ the Eric on the screen says. _People always think about a healthy diet as a tasteless diet. Food shouldn't be something that makes you unhappy or unhealthy._

The shot cuts to Eric working on the current challenge, hair set just so, sweat beading on his forehead. Jack groans while Shitty laughs.

"It's fine to have a celebrity crush, Jack," Shitty teases.

"Don't," Jack groans. "I'm probably never going to actually meet him. I'll just keep seeing him from afar."

" _Admiring_ from afar."

"That's creepy, Shits."

"Nah. Anyways, your boy is onto the dessert round."

Jack can hear Shitty badly suppressing laughter when maple glazed bacon is announced as one of the ingredients.

 _I don't really like maple glazed bacon_ , Eric is saying. _It's so easy to get wrong and there's so many better ways to use both maple and bacon in a dessert_.

Eric ends up using the maple bacon in a bake less tart, with a birthday cake and graham cracker crust.

 _It's weird_ , one of the judges says, laughing a bit. _But it works. It needed the additional maple you put in the filling to keep the bacon from standing out too much. I'm impressed_.

Eric wins. Shitty whoops and Jack laughs.

"You're going to wake up Lardo again," he admonishes.

"Yeah, well. That'll happen," Shitty says in a noticeably quieter voice. "Well, not that _I_ don't love being up at three am, but _you_ have an infamously strict schedule to keep up with tomorrow and I think you're a little behind."

"Yeah, I need to go sleep," Jack sighs, laying back on the bed. "I can't believe I found him."

"You going to do anything about it?"

"No? I don't think I can do anything without being creepy." Jack turns the TV off. "We both need to go to bed. I have skate in a few hours."

"I have work. Did I tell you about --"

"Shitty. You two are coming down this weekend, yeah? Tell me then."

 

* * *

 

Bitty walked into his internship yawning. He barely got up early enough the day before to edit and print his reflection paper, and definitely not early enough to read his chapters, so he's been carrying around the guilt of his lackluster quiz score since yesterday.

He knows he's unprepared to reveal his internship project to the world. Each of them had been given one of the major players and told to make a food that could be presented as the signature food for one of the fancier concession stands at the arena. Even though he had been serving his food for the whole season, there was something different about letting it out on the internet, which had been his domain for so long.

"Why are we here so early?" Maria mumbles, leaning against the doorway half asleep.

"Because hockey players," Bitty mutters, cutting chicken breast. "They have skate this afternoon."

"So why don't we do it on a day they _don't_ have practice."

Bitty just grumbles under his breath.

Soon he loses himself in the preparation of the food, checking on the oven preheating, blending the peanuts.

Bitty tries not to think about Jack Zimmermann. He's done quite a bit of research trying to come up with the right food to make for the project, not wanting to cop out with poutine or something else from Quebec. Considering Zimmermann was infamous for his strict diet, neither of those seemed right. Besides, so many of the of the players were from Canada. There was nothing unique about that.

So Bitty had watched hours of interviews, sitting through Jack's monotone as he talking about plays, talked about his habits. The apartment tour episode of Falcs TV was the one that intrigued Bitty though.

Jack just made a casual answer about the pictures on the wall, but Bitty noticed that there was something there. His voice was a little less monotone, his perked up a little bit.

"I took most of these," he said gesturing to the apartment at large. "Most of them are from college. I wanted to take a few pieces of Samwell with me, eh? So they're pictures of the campus."

It jogs something in Bitty's memory and he scrambles back through the videos he's already watched. It was one of the first ones he watched, and the one he has the most notes on it.

Just a quick fire question and answer video with as many of the Falcs as it looked like the PR team could get a hold of at once. Jack looks caught off guard every time they ask him someone.

"Favorite food? I don't really have one. I have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich before every game." He shrugs. "I miss the chicken tenders from Samwell, though."

Bitty had gone to the grocery store right after.

And now here he is, presenting his internship project inspired by an athlete to the athlete himself, on the internet.

While feeling terrible about himself and coming off a week where he got an average of four hours a sleep a night.

Bitty sighs and keeps an eye on the chicken tenders in oven while he stirs the sauces on the stove.

Once he has the chicken tenders cooling and the sauces off the stove, he excuses himself to go into the bathroom.

Bitty looks at himself in the mirror for a few minutes, rapidly blinking his eyes. He doesn't _look_ too tired, but his eyes feels crusty and his joints ache. He's already looking forward to the nap he's going to have when he gets home.

He washes his hands and goes back into the kitchen. He makes himself busy by plating his food, putting it in the paper lined basket with a little more care than the situation calls for. He can't do much about the plastic cups the sauces come in, but he can't help but feel like they look a little cheap.

Bitty wasn't this nervous when he was filming the Chopped episode. But he had also had a lot more sleep before that. He had been a lot more confident presenting during that next to the other contestants than putting his chicken tenders next to Maria's gorgeous nachos and Peyton's unique Russian meatballs that Bitty is going to have to get the recipe of.

They don't have to wait long for the camera crew to show up and start setting up, and Zimmermann comes in soon after, talking to someone Bitty recognizes as Georgia Martin. Zimmermann looks at him and does a double take, and Bitty doesn't think about why. He doesn't think Jack recognizes him from the loading dock -- it's not like they got a good look at each other.

Ryan, Bitty's manager, shakes the hand of a young woman Bitty doesn't recognize.

"We're still waiting on Rigo and Tater," she says.

"They're on their way," Jack says. "They're riding together."

"Thank you for doing this," the young woman said, addressing Bitty and his coworkers. "I'm Cara. I run the Falcs TV programming."

"This is Maria, Eric, and Peyton. They were each assigned to one of the players and tasked with creating a sellable dish based on that player." Ryan shrugs. "They're all participants in the Johnson and Wales internship class, and they're the first class to intern here, although Eric has worked here longer."

Startled at hearing his name, Bitty smiles on reflex and gives a little wave. Jack looks at him for a longer length of time.

At that point, two men around Jack's height or taller come in.

"Are we late?" Rigo asks Jack, who checks his watch and shrugs.

"Not really," Jack says.

"You're fine," Laura says brightly. "Okay, so. Each of these lovely interns has made a dish that's been served to the fans based on each one of you," she continues, addressing the players.

Jack looks at the chicken tenders in front of Bitty before glancing up at his face again. Bitty blushes.

"We'll go through them one by one, give the chefs the chance to explain what they made, and then let you guys try it and tell them what you think."

"While filming you the entire time," Georgia says with a smirk towards Jack's direction, who rolls his eyes slightly.

"Let's get started," Laura says, clapping her hands and starting to direct the cameramen.

Maria goes first and explains her Cajun style shrimp nachos, while Rigo takes a bite. He nods excitedly, trying to gesture while chewing and ending up doing a good impression of a bobble head.

Peyton serves her fancy Russian meatballs to Tater, who immediately provides the correct word in Russian and exclaims over them, coming back for seconds.

Then it gets to Bitty's turn.

"I made almond crusted chicken tenders," Bitty says, sounding more confident than he felt. "I also made two sauces. One is a peanut sauce and one is a peach sauce, which comes from a peach jelly."

"Like PB and J," Jack says.

"Exactly," Bitty says, wondering if he can blame the light headed feeling he has on being sleep deprived. Gosh, Jack's eyes are really blue.

Jack takes a chicken tender and dips it into the peanut sauce, then takes a bite.

"Wow, that's good," he says, dipping it into the peach sauce. "That's _really_ good."

"Thank you," Bitty says, a little faintly.

After Bitty's turn, the formal part of the filming is over. The cameras are still rolling, but it's more casual, letting the different players try all of the dishes.

Bitty is eyeing Peyton's meatballs, wondering if there will be any leftover after the crew get some, when he's startled by Jack sidling up to him to snag another tender.

"Sorry," Jack says, and it comes out strongly saturated with his accent that fades with the rest of his words. "But these are just really good. They remind me of college."

"That's what I was going for originally," Bitty says. "The peanut and jelly sauces came later."

"Really?" Jack says, smiling. "Sometimes I kind of miss college, eh? This is like a little piece of that."

It reminds Bitty strongly of Jack gesturing to the pictures on his walls in the one video.

"I'm glad," Bitty says, genuinely. "Although I can't wait until I'm missing college, to be honest."

Jack puts his head back and laughs. Bitty is entranced.

"I can see that," he says. "I watched your Chopped episode the other night."

"Oh gosh," Bitty says, a little taken aback. "Yep. That's. I did that."

"I thought it was really impressive," Jack continues. "I recognized you from when you asked me if I was all right by the loading dock."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Bitty says reflexively. "You just seemed a little upset and --"

"No, thank you," Jack insists. "It was nice. I actually keep seeing you around Providence --"

"Really?"

"But I never got the chance to say thank you."

"Oh. Well, you're welcome." Bitty feels like he's having a slightly out of body experience. It's hard to put the man in front of him, awkwardly earnest, with the flat monotone he watched in interviews. It's not as hard to compare him to the man who showed off the pictures of his college and friends.

"I, um," Jack gets suddenly shy looking down at his feet. "I'm really happy you picked this. Picked -- I know it's just chicken tenders, but college was really important to me."

"I could tell," Bitty says softly. "I didn't just want to do something from your hometown. I know Canada is probably important to you, but you didn't have pictures of Montreal around your apartment."

"Well, I do have one," Jack says. "But it's of me and my parents, mostly."

"And it's fairly healthy," Bitty says. "I know that's important to you, too. The chicken is baked, and the jelly is naturally flavored."

"That's good," Jack says. "I like that."

"I thought you might."

There's a moment of silence where neither of them talk.

"I told my friend about you," Jack blurts out, then immediately looks embarrassed. "I told him about seeing you, and the Chopped episode. He told me that, uh. That it sounded like I had a crush on you."

"Oh," Bitty says, taken aback. "Oh, I --"

"I'm sorry, that was -- that was really -- well, kind of creepy --"

"Do you?" Bitty asks.

"Do I what?"

"Have a crush on me?"

"Oh." Jack considers for a moment. "I don't think I know you well enough." Jack looks Bitty dead in the eye. "But I think I'd like to."

"I think we can do something about that," Bitty says.

"Really?" Jack says, letting a slow smile spread across his face.

"Yeah," Bitty says, gaining more confidence. "Maybe like a date?"

"I'd like that."

"I'm pretty busy," Bitty says honestly. "But I'll give you my number, and then we can pick a day when I'm looking at my schedule."

"We'll figure something out," Jack says, giving Bitty a chance to grab a piece of paper and a pen.

"Jack," Georgia calls from by the door with Rigo and Tater. "Wanna do that meeting now?"

"Sounds good!" he calls over his shoulder before carefully sliding Bitty's number into his pocket. "I'll text you, eh?"

"Yeah," Bitty says, just a second too late. "Yeah." He reaches out to steal a piece of Peyton's meatball and ignores the questioning look she gives him.

 

* * *

 

Jack sticks around for a few minutes after Rigo and Tater leave George's office.

"I think that the filming went really well today," George says.

"Yeah, it did," Jack responds, thinking of Eric's number in his pocket. He's been trying to figure out how to tell Shitty that's going to get the least amount of chirping sent his way.

"Don't worry, they can edit out you flirting with the cook," George says, casually. Jack splutters.

"He was -- we've --" He covers his face with his hand while George laughs at him.

"You're fine, kid, I'm messing with you. It's about time you stopped living like a monk who just took his vows." George spins a pen over her finger. "He's cute."

"He is," Jack says before he thinks better of it. George smirks at him while he blushes.

"We've met before," Jack admits. "Briefly, but then I kept seeing him around. Did you know he was on Chopped?"

"Yes, Jack, I heard you compliment him on it. Several times."

Jack groans.

"Hey, he said yes," George points out.

"He did." Jack blows out a long breath. "He did."

"That peach sauce was really good."

"It was."

"Did you use up your word quota asking a nice boy out today?"

"Yep."

George sighs. "I'll be quick then. Do you still want to wait until after the season to talk about your contract?"

"Yeah. I want to stay here, but I just can't sit down and think about it now. Games haven't been bad so far, but -- I'm still waiting for the other shoe to drop."

"That's fine, Jack. I understand." George taps her pencil on her desk a few times. "It's going to keep me up at night, but I understand."

"Sorry about that."

"It's nothing new. All right, get out of here before you're late. Dan doesn't care that you're captain, he'll make you do suicides either way."

Practice is average, but Jack is unfocused, relying on muscle memory more than he should be. He gets through it, and can't quite turn down his grin as he jogs up the steps to his apartment.

He's excited. He takes a moment to marvel in the novelty of it before pushing the door open.

Shitty and Lardo are sitting on the couch with a bowl of popcorn, arguing over whether or not the right person won on a singing show Jack doesn't watch. They pay him no mind until he leans over the back of the couch to snag a handful of popcorn.

"Have you two moved since this morning?"

"Yeah, I got up and made popcorn, obviously," Shitty replies, throwing a kernel at his head. "How was your day?"

"It was good," Jack says, popping a few more in his mouth. "Got a date."

There's a comical pause where no one says anything, before Shitty bursts out laughing.

"Did you and Tater finally decide to give the fangirls more to talk about?"

Jack snorts. "No. It's with Eric. The guy I kept seeing around? He was part of the FalcsTV thing today."

"Hold on, you've been seeing someone and talking to Shitty about it and I'm just now hearing about it?" Lardo says, betrayed.

"Not like that," Jack says. "I've just been seeing him around and then I saw him on TV."

Lardo looks over at Shitty with one eyebrow raised. Shitty nods solemnly. "Chopped," he says, seriously.

"We were doing a promotion thing with one of the concession stands? He was there. He actually, uh. Did the one that's for me."

"And you decided that was a good segue and went for it?" Shitty says. "I'm impressed, dude."

"I actually, uh. Kind of admitted I've been seeing him around and wanted to thank him for checking in on me that one day," Jack admits, rubbing the back of his neck. "And then I told him about seeing him on TV and telling you."

"Aw, he already knows about me," Shitty says while Lardo throws popcorn at Jack's head while shouting "Betrayal, Zimmermann!".

"And I told him that you told me you thought I sounded like I had a thing for him and he asked me if I did and said I wanted to get to know him better and he said that sounded good so he gave me his number," Jack finishes in one breath. There's a moment of quiet that he uses to pick the popcorn out of his hair.

"I'm still mad you've been having gossip time with Shitty and not me," Lardo says finally. "Seriously, you had to ask him out by telling him you've been accidentally stalking him? I could have come up with a better plan."

"It wasn't a plan, exactly. I just thought that was my chance and I didn't want to miss my shot." Jack sighs. "He's out of my league. I can't believe he said yes." Jack considers for a moment. "Sorry I haven't had the chance to tell you. I know you've been busy."

"Oh, dude, speaking of being busy and art -- how's your Perspective project coming along?"

"Nooooo, before you and Jack start having art talk -- have you texted him yet?" Shitty asks.

"No, I haven't texted him yet. And I don't want to talk about my project, I'm stuck."

"But that's the best time to talk about it." Jack shoots her a glare. "All right, fine. You can make up for your earlier transgression of gossiping with Shitty but not me by letting us help you text this boy."

Jack breathes out a sigh of relief and hands over his phone.

 

* * *

 

Bitty goes home and deals with his unexpected day by throwing together a quarter batch of cookies and hyperventilating in front of the oven until they're done.

Then he stops wallowing and gets to work.

Bitty pulls together a summary of his schedule for the next two weeks and gets it ready to send as soon as Jack texts him to set something up. He spends less than five minutes doubting whether or not Jack will actually text him, for which he's proud of himself. He also manages to distract himself with homework, which marks the first time that _that_ particular strategy has actually worked.

Jack texts him as he's eating his second cookie and onto outlining the second paragraph of his internship project summary paper.

_From: [unknown number]  
Hi Eric, it's Jack_

_To: Jack Zimmermann  
Hi Jack! Good to see you could read my handwriting, lol_

_From: Jack Zimmermann  
Haha yeah. _

_To: Jack Zimmermann_  
So I have a crazy schedule but here it is. I'm sure we can figure out something that works!  
[img_3880]

 _From: Jack Zimmermann_  
wow  
do you really work every day?

 _To: Jack Zimmermann_  
nah i have next tuesday off  
and in theory i'm leaving one job any day now

_From: Jack Zimmermann  
but you still have class_

_To: Jack Zimmermann_  
yeah, I'm sorry  
it's going to be hard to plan anything

 _From: Jack Zimmermann_  
oh no I'm not worried about that  
we'll figure something out  
I was just wondering when you slept

 _To: Jack Zimmermann_  
oh lol not much  
so it looks like the only time we really have in common is when we're both at the rink  
well and the time immediately before it but I assume you're doing warmups and stuff

 _From: Jack Zimmermann_  
I usually eat before I leave home  
we could eat and then ride in together?  
at the monday tuesday game

_To: Jack Zimmermann  
that sounds good!_

_From: Jack Zimmermann  
Does it still sound good if I tell you I only eat PB and J sandwiches before games?_

_To: Jack Zimmermann_  
you forget I had to base a menu item around you  
I already knew that and yes it still sounds good :)

 _From: Jack Zimmermann_  
will you be able to get a ride home? I'm usually there late  
you probably won't want to hang around until I can give you a ride 

_To: Jack Zimmermann  
I'll double check, but I'm pretty sure I can get a ride home with my coworker!_

_From: Jack Zimmermann  
Okay, let me know when you know for sure? _

_To: Jack Zimmermann  
Sure thing!_

Brad finally wanders out once the smell of fresh baked cookies wafts into his room.

"That looks productive," Brad says, gesturing to where Bitty is staring blankly at his phone. He steals a cookie off the tray.

"Sure, help yourself," Bitty mutters darkly.

"Don't be grumpy. Who are you texting?"

"Don't be a gossip. I'm texting a guy."

"Like a cute guy or just a guy?"

Bitty whines and lays his head down on his laptop's keyboard.

"A really cute guy," he groans. "He's so out of my league. It's not even funny."

"Why is he out of your league? Is he rich or something?"

Bitty just starts laughing, a high pitched stressed sound.

"Just ask him out. What's the worst he can say?"

"He already asked me out," Bitty mutters.

"Oh. What's the problem then?"

"There isn't one? Until he talks to me for more than a few minutes and realizes I'm a _loser_."

Brad shakes his head sadly at him, as if there's something fundamentally wrong about what Bitty just said but that he doesn't want to get into it. "When's your date?"

"Oh yeah, about that. What are you doing Tuesday night?"

"It sounds like I'm doing you a favor Tuesday night."

"Can you pick me up from work? Our date is right before so he'll take me there but I need a ride home. You can use the truck for the day."

Brad raises an eyebrow and takes another cookie. "Are you seriously going to let me drive your truck just so I'll come pick you up? You must really like this guy."

Bitty sighs. "I do really like him. Please don't wreck the truck. I'm attached."

"I'll see you Tuesday."

 

* * *

 

Within a few hours, everyone Bitty speaks to on a regular basis has been told he has a date.

"Would you all _stop_ ," he groans, as they're doing homework on Sunday night. Bitty worked the game at the concession stand, and shot furtive glances at the screen showing the game whenever he could. Jack had a good night; Bitty felt a shot of pride in his chest with a shot of worry about how strongly he already felt immediately following. "I literally have only met him once. We haven't even gone on a date yet. Hold your horses."

"Sounds like you want to be holding something else," Jenna says suggestively, winking at him.

"Okay, first of all," Bitty says, pointing a pencil at her, "that doesn't even make any sense. Second of all, _I'm_ being mature and careful about this. You guys are the ones being ridiculous."

"We're just happy for you," Brad insists. "You haven't gone on a real date in forever. We've had nothing romantic to use as material to joke with you in, like, a year."

"This is _not_ the way to encourage me. You realize that, right?" Bitty says while he composes a text.

_To: Jack Zimmermann  
my roommate is going to pick me up after work! I'll see you Tuesday?_

_From: Jack Zimmermann  
I'm looking forward to it, see you then :)_

 

* * *

 

The day of his date with Eric goes disastrously wrong from the time Jack wakes up.

First, he burns his eggs. Which would be fine, except he's out, which reminds him that he forgot to order groceries. A bigger problem than normal, because he's also out of bread and jelly, which he's supposed to have for their date tonight.

He rallies okay from that, deciding to stop by the grocery store on his way home from practice.

That plan gets shot to hell when Tater takes a bad fall in practice, tweaking his bad knee badly enough he needs help getting to the trainer's office. Jack stays with him while they wait for the prognosis, which is luckily just a sprain. He could be out for a decent chunk of time, but there shouldn't be any lasting damage done.

Still, he gets in the car considerably later than he planned, and his pregame routine is shot to hell.

So are his date plans.

Jack sighs and gets ready to break the news to Eric.

_To: Eric Bittle  
Hey, I got caught up helping a teammate and I'm running way behind schedule_

_From: Eric Bittle  
oh shoot! I'm a little behind too. I was hoping to be home by now but I'm still on campus :/_

Jack's heart beats a little faster. He had originally planned on calling to cancel their date, but if Bitty is off schedule too, maybe he won't mind a little bit of winging it.

_To: Eric Bittle  
do you mind playing it by ear a little? I need to go home and shower but then I could come pick you up? I have to stop by the grocery store and we could stop by your place if you need anything _

_From: Eric Bittle  
I think we can make that work! I'll send you my location where I'll be. I've got everything I need for tonight_

_To: Eric Bittle  
Okay. Thirty minutes okay?_

_From: Eric Bittle_  
[Eric Bittle's location]  
See you soon!

Jack takes a fast shower, spends a little more time carefully shaving, and gets dressed in a gray game day suit. He flounders over picking a tie, grabbing a blue one before he starts to obsess it. He actually attempts to do something with his hair, but gives up and just combs it. He doesn't want to have any product in his hair under his helmet.

It almost feels surreal that he's going to play a hockey game tonight. He barely remembers to grab his lunch box from the counter.

_To: Eric Bittle  
I'm on my way_

Jack pulls up to Eric sitting outside the college's library on a bench. He's dressed in black pants and a blue polo with the Falconers logo on it. Eric grins when he sees Jack in his car.

"Well, I feel underdressed for this," Eric says teasingly. Jack shoots him a wry grin before pulling away from the curb.

"Sorry. I figured that I didn't want to waste any time having to go back to my place to change before going to the rink."

"Mm, don't be sorry. You look great. Whereas I think someone reported me to security as a homeless person that had snuck into the library when they caught me drying my hair with the hand dryer."

Jack laughs. "I think you look good. I brought some knives and things, but I was out of pretty much everything else. I was going to stop at one of the stores on Atwells?"

"One of the super fancy places? Yeah, that could work."

"I've never actually been inside one," Jack confesses. "I just spotted them on my way here."

"I haven't either. Well, we'll give it a try. New experiences and all that."

"Could be fun."

It is not fun.

At least, not at first.

"How is there _nowhere_ to park?" Jack grumbles, driving around the block, _again_.

"I think we can blame you for that, hun," Bitty says, reaching to pat Jack's leg reassuringly. Jack glances at him, wounded, before Bitty continues with, "it's game night, and there's a ton of restaurants around here. We're not too far from the arena that people can't walk if they want."

"I didn't even think about that." Jack sighs.

"Oh, there's one, go, go!"

After nearly running a red light and pulling off a risky parallel parking maneuver, they're getting out of the car to high five behind the trunk, laughing.

"Well, that only took --" Jack checks his watch. "Twenty minutes."

"That's all right, we can be quick."

They're not quick.

"Um."

"Wow."

Jack is a bisexual man playing pro hockey, he's been to rehab, he's been an older college student. But he's still not sure he's ever felt as out of place as he does when he walks into the grocery store.

Calling it a grocery store seems too mundane, as it obviously doesn't want to be.

Jack is wearing a suit, and he feels underdressed.

"Um. Well. Shall we?" Bitty says, uncertain.

"Let's try?"

It becomes immediately obvious that they're not going to find what they're looking for.

"Jack," Bitty whispers, urgent. "Please tell me that's not a ninety nine dollar bottle of balsamic vinegar."

Jack follows the line of Bitty's to finger to what is, unfortunately, a ninety nine dollar bottle of balsamic vinegar.

"Um. I wish I could."

Jack meets Bitty's gaze and suddenly he's struggling to hold in his laughter.

"Okay, okay, I'll bite. Why is it so special?" Jack said, grabbing the bottle and reading the label. Bitty does the same. "Oh, wow, aged twelve years. Is that, uh. Is that good?"

"I have no idea," Bitty says. "But this bottle says twenty five years. Why is it different?" Bitty glances up at the shelf. "Oh my God, it's because this is actually one hundred and sixty dollar balsamic. Oh my God, I've had paychecks less than that."

They have to leave after that, leaving the balsamic behind, because they're laughing so hard they're disturbing the ambience of the store.

"So pretentious," Bitty says between giggles.

"'Obtained from the must of Modena grapes'," Jack quotes, leaning on the French in his French-Canadian accent, just to see Bitty put his head back and cackle. He intertwines his arm with Jack's, leaning his head up against Jack's bicep. Jack stomach swoops pleasantly, and he twines their fingers together. "What should we do now? I don't think we have time to find another parking spot."

"There's a Walgreens down the street?"

They have the opposite problem in Walgreens. Out on the street, with Jack in his suit and Bitty in his work clothes, they didn't stick out too much from the mix of people stopping for a nice meal on the way home from work and people heading to the game. Inside the drugstore, they start to get funny looks.

It makes Jack feel a little nervous, a little itch settling under his collar. But Bitty does a pretty good job of distracting him from his worry, keeping him on task, grabbing a loaf of wheat bread with a wink.

It's great until he gets Bitty in front of a row of jelly, and Jack sees something he didn't before.

"Jack? Any preference between strawberry and cherry?" Bitty frowns when he turns and sees Jack, a little stunned. "Jack?"

"I have a really weird question," Jack blurts out.

"Okay?" Bitty says, really confused now and obviously concerned.

"I -- I like to do photography?" Jack winces at how awkward he sounds. _Do photography_ , honestly Zimmermann, pull it together. "And, uh -- would you mind if I went and grabbed my camera and took a picture of you here?"

"Um. I think so?" Bitty says, face scrunching up. "I mean. What would you do with it?"

"I'm working on a project for a contest." Jack rubs the back of his neck. "You could have veto power on whether or not I could use it?"

"I think that's okay. You'll have to tell me more about this project of yours, those."

"Okay, I will." Jack hesitates, then turns and starts walking quickly away. Exiting the store feels a little like stepping back into a more visceral reality, and he half jogs to the car, feeling more and more like an idiot the whole way. It makes him abruptly aware that he just left his date alone in a drugstore in order to get his camera.

Lardo is going to kill him and he's never telling his mom about this.

Jack grabs his camera out of his bag in the trunk, and then hurries back to the store where Bitty is reading the back of a bottle of jelly.

"Oh, Jack -- you didn't have to run!"

"I didn't really," Jack says. "Can you -- can you turn towards the shelf?"

Bitty raises an eyebrow at him, but he does it.

Jack takes a few shots from different angles.

"I'll have you know this is probably the oddest thing I've been asked to do on a first date," Bitty says, casual. "Ooooh, actually, let me say that different -- how about the oddest thing I've been asked to do that I'll tell my mother about."

Jack laughs and puts the camera down. Bitty turns around and grins at him.

"Ready?" Jack asks. "I'll tell you about it in the car."

After Jack finishes explaining, Bitty is quiet for a few moments before speaking.

"So you're -- you're basically trying to take pictures that -- make you feel queer?"

Jack grimaces, aware he's done a terrible job trying to articulate his thoughts.

"No, it's more -- I was in the closet for so long that I never learned how to -- I never connected with the community at all. Does that make sense? I would watch pride parades and, and -- I actually took an LGBT history course in college. And it still never felt like it belonged to me. People would talk about not being afraid and not being ashamed and I didn't know what to do with the fact that I was afraid and ashamed."

"But then you came out," Bitty says, quietly.

"I did. But it's still. I don't know."

"Something you feel like you're not supposed to have."

"Yeah." Jack glances at Bitty while at a red light to see that he's staring down at the camera display. "Yeah, exactly."

It's quiet until Jack pulls into the parking garage at the arena. Bitty clears his throat after Jack kills the engine.

"It's really good, Jack." Bitty gestures to the camera. "It's going to be good."

"Thanks." Jack desperately wants to do anything he can to lighten up the mood, but he doesn't know what to do.

"Well," Bitty says, placing Jack's camera on the backseat. "I suppose this is a bad time to mention I have a rainbow flag tattooed on my ass?"

"You're lying," Jack says, a relieved smile breaking out. "You do not have a rainbow flag tattooed on your ass."

"You're right, it's actually on my upper thigh. You should say 'ass' again, it sounds great in your accent." Bitty pulls out the bread from the bag and hands it to Jack, who reaches into the back to grab the knives and napkins.

"Asshole," Jack says, loving Bitty's peal of laughter. They spread cheap peanut butter and Smuckers cherry jelly over the terrible off brand bread. "I have napkins in the glove box," he says, gesturing.

Bitty fishes them out and hands one over to Jack before wiping his hands.

"If we're going to make a habit of this, I'm going to start keeping wet wipes in here," Bitty says, while trying to get the peanut butter off while the napkin disintegrates.

"Are we going to?" Jack asks, not sure he's ready to hear the answer. "Do this again?"

"By 'this', do you mean a date or do you mean making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in your car?"

"Um. Either?"

"I think we should go on a date that doesn't involve making food in the car," Bitty says. "Next time, let me cook you dinner."

"But there is going to be a next time?" Jack asks, looking for reassurance.

"You know, this was kind of a disaster." Jack's heart sinks. Bitty looks up at Jack. "But I had a really great time. And I really like you."

"I really like you too," Jack responds. He sounds weirdly breathless. He thinks it has something to do with the way Bitty is biting his lip. "I think Shitty was right. I do have a crush on you."

"I'm sorry, did you say shitty?" Bitty says, mood breaking.

"My friend's nickname is Shitty. The one who --"

"Yeah, I got that part. Shitty? Really?"

"Hockey nickname."

"Not as good of an explanation as you think it is, Jack."

Jack opens his mouth to begin to explain Shitty when his alarm goes off. He swears and digs out his phone to snooze it.

"I have to go," he says, regretful. "I don't really want to."

Bitty snorts.

"Go crush the Bruins, honey. I'm not going anywhere."

"Promise?" Jack says lowly. Their gazes lock and they lean in. Their lips meet and Jack brings a hand up to cup Bitty's face, eyes sliding shut.

It's a soft kiss. Their lips part and Jack immediately leans back in. Bitty does too, pushing up to put one hand on the steering wheel next to Jack's and another on Jack's shoulder, tilting his head so that the kiss can deepen.

Jack makes a soft _mm_ of pleasure and parts his lips, coaxing Bitty to do the same. Bitty moans softly and lets Jack in, gripping his shoulder tighter. Jack could happily stay like that for hours, and moves to cup the back of Bitty's head more firmly.

Eventually, their lips part with a small sound, and Jack opens his eyes to look at Bitty, who has opened his eyes just enough to gaze at him from under heavy lids. There's a soft heat in his eyes that Jack wants to sink into for the next few hours.

The mood breaks when Jack's snoozed alarm reminds him that as much as he would like to sit in that car with Bitty for the rest of the night and explore the way they're learning to fit together, he has to go play a game of hockey.

"I guess I really have to go, now," Jack sighs. Bitty makes a soft, displeased noise, dropping his head to Jack's shoulder.

"It's fine," Bitty says, sighing. Jack feels the gust of his breath on his neck and clamps down the shiver that tries to move up his spine. Bitty pulls back to his own side of the car. "Text me after the game, okay? We'll make plans."

"I might not be home until late," Jack warns. "I have cool down and press and --"

Bitty places a soft kiss on his lips. "Then you should call me. So that if I've fallen asleep, it'll wake me up. Okay?"

Jack smiles. "Okay."

"Now go before you make the both of us late."

 

* * *

                                                                                                

It's one of the hardest shifts Bitty has ever had working in a kitchen, and he likes to think that's saying something.

Although there's TV monitors displaying the game by the cash register, they're pointed towards the customers. He's far enough away that he can only hear the cheers and boos, and the occasional announcement or TV commentator.

Whenever the Bruins are in town it's all hands on deck, since it's always a sellout. Passionate hockey fans are not passionate about being polite, especially between two teams with such a big rivalry. Bitty is just glad he's in the kitchen and not on the register.

It does eventually come to an end, and Bitty uses the excuse of bringing the line markers in to check the final score on the monitors. He sees that the Falconers win, and has to bite his lip from the stupid smile that's spreading on his face.

Bitty barely remembers to text Brad to come pick him up.

"Keys," he says once he comes upon Brad leaning against the side of the truck, holding out his hand.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Brad says, handing them over.

"Do anything special with it?" Bitty says, climbing into the cab.

"Bitty, I got groceries today without having to carry them ten blocks. It was luxurious. It was the best thing that has ever happened to me. We're all stocked for this week."

"You say that like I don't normally get the groceries for work."

"Yeah, but you don't get _my_ groceries."

"Well, obviously."

"Bro!" Brad bursts out. "I almost forgot. How was your date?"

Bitty lets the smile he's been repressing for hours break out in full force and he laughs a little.

"It was really good. I -- I really like him."

"Aw, Bitty. If I didn't know better I'd say you got laid."

Bitty laughs again.

"When would I have had time for that?"

"I don't know, dude. I'm surprised you found time for a date at all."

"Tell me about it," Bitty says with a sigh, pulling into his parking spot. "I have no idea how this is going to work. He's busy, too, you know?"

"It'll work out," Brad says, getting out of the car.

"I want it to," Bitty whispers to himself before climbing out himself.

Bitty knows he's should probably study for the quiz he has the next day, but he already did the reading. Well, skimmed the reading. It'll be fine. And he started an outline for his paper due at the end of the week, so he feels like he's earned a night of academic irresponsibility.

He showers and falls into bed, looking up the highlights for the game. Watching Jack play creates an odd sensation that starts in his stomach and ends up in his throat. It's surreal to watch Jack score, enjoying the celebration with his teammates, fighting for the puck, cheering from the bench.

 _I'm dating him,_ Bitty thinks. _This is my life now_.

Eventually, Jack does call.

"I'm sorry it's so late," he apologizes, like Bitty wouldn't have waited days for him.

"You're fine, Jack. You had a good game!"

"Haha, yeah."

The line goes for a few awkward moments.

"I'm, uh. Weirdly nervous?" Jack finally confesses. Bitty lets out a whoosh of breath.

"Oh gosh, me too. This is ridiculous, I wasn't nearly this nervous earlier."

"Let's start over?"

"Yeah."

"So, did you get to watch the game?"

"No, not really. I caught the highlights after. Your goal was ridiculous, by the way."

"Haha, thanks. Did you -- did you watch a lot of hockey before. . . ?"

"I used to play, actually."

"Really?" and it's less surprise in Jack's voice than delight.

"Yeah, when I was at Brown."

"Ooooh, Brown," Jack says, teasingly. "We could have played against each other."

"Oh, well, maybe. If I saw any ice time. I wasn't very good. Or, well, I was okay, but --" Bitty feels a sudden zip of self consciousness, aware that Jack has won a Stanley Cup and Bitty couldn't stay upright when someone skated at him. "I couldn't take a hit. And it's a contact sport."

"Did you not have a problem with contact before college?" Jack asks, confused.

"I played in a no contact rec league before college."

"And your captains didn't help you?" Jack says, disgusted. "That's a horrible transition. _I_ would have helped you."

Bitty snorts. "Jack, I doubt it. I was a liability on the ice and obnoxious off of it. You would have hated me. They certainly did."

"Eric. That's not right," Jack says softly.

"Oh, I know. It's one of the reasons I dropped out. The other being the total and complete existential crisis I had and parents partially disowning me. I've had better years."

Jack is quiet and Bitty kicks himself. This is a conversation they should be having in person, so he can read Jack's face.

"I'm sorry, Eric."

"Thank you. That's just the way that cookie crumbled. And I'm glad I didn't stay, you know? I would have just stayed miserable."

"I completely understand," Jack says softly, and Bitty believes that of all people, Jack does really understand.

"So. This is a depressing topic."

Jack laughs softly. "When can we see each other again?"

"Much happier topic. I approve. Thursday there's no game so neither of us are working that night. Let me make you dinner."

"You made me lunch last weekend. Let _me_ make _you_ dinner."

"I made everyone lunch last weekend," Bitty argues. "You host, we'll cook together."

"That sounds good," Jack says, and Bitty's chest feels warm. "What are we making?"

"Hm. Allergic to anything? Dislike anything?"

"Nope."

"And you're a hockey play so the more calories the better. How about steak and some roasted sweet potatoes? Maybe some asparagus. I have a few good sauce recipes. And if you need to throw some chicken on there, I won't look."

Jack laughs. "That sounds good. Nutrition major, right? I probably won't need the chicken. I'll have eaten after practice already."

"So I'll be over around five thirty? You'll have to give me your address."

"Sure. I'll text it to you. And I'll get groceries."

"You don't have to --"

"I want to. Please."

"Okay. Thursday at seven."

When they hang up, Bitty rolls over to press his face into the mattress, because he can't hide his grin and the giddy laughter.


	3. Chapter 3

Jack's pulling his t shirt on after practice on Wednesday when Tater and Rigo approach him.

"Captain's dinner tomorrow? Last chance before we go on the road," Rigo says. 

"Oh, I --" Jack grimaces. "I can't."

"Oooh, big plans, Zimmboni?" Tater asks.

"Haha, uh. Yeah. Got a date."

Both of his As reel, before descending upon him with the most brutal barrage of questions he had outside of a presser.

"Who?!"

"When did this happen?"

"Why did you not tell me?" Tater demands.

"Crisse, calm down. It's our second date. It's Eric. From the uh. The thing we did. With the place upstairs?" Jack looks at their blank faces. "Did you two not know? George was there, she knew."

"No!" Tater says. "George knows, but not us?"

"You're supposed to tell us these things!"

"It hasn't even been a week!" Jack defends.

"And you're already on date two?" Rigo asks, one eyebrow raised.

"Yeah, well. I like him. And we're going to be gone." Jack shrugs.

They coo at him. Jack rolls his eyes.

"Second date? What are you two doing?"

"What did you even do for your first one?" Rigo asks.

"First one we --" Jack flashes back to leaving Eric alone in Walgreens so he could get his camera and eating sandwiches in the car. "-- got something to eat on the way to the game. We're cooking and staying in tomorrow."

" _Staying in_. It that what the kids are calling it now?" Rigo is gleeful.

"You are literally five years younger than me," Jack tells him. "Plus I think we can all agree that out of all the people here, I'm the _least_ likely to know what kids are calling anything."

"Eighty year old man," Tater says, nodding sagely.

"But. Yeah, I'm gonna pass on captain's dinner. Hey, we'll go out in Dallas, yeah? I know a place," Jack says, peering around Tater's shoulder to see Joey, looking a little lost.

"It better not be a steakhouse."

"It's not. It's a Tex Mex Italian fusion place." Jack walks away from them then, grabbing his bag, and lengthens his stride to catch up to Joey.

"Hey, Joey," Jack says. "I just wanted to check in on you. How are you holding up?"

"Um." Joey looks confused. "I'm fine?"

"It's just, I wanted to see how you were dealing with --" Jack is pretty sure they're alone in the hallway, but not sure enough to say it out loud. "-- with what we talked about the other day." Joey looks at him blankly. Jack sighs. "Look, I'm not good at subtle. Help me out here."

Joey nods stiffly. "Yeah. It's -- it's fine. The same."

"Yeah? No one giving you any trouble?"

"No, not really."

Jack spends a few steps mulling over whether or not to let him get away with it.

"Not really?" he finally presses.

"It's nothing, it's just -- Rigo keeps trying to set me up."

"Oh. Yeah, he does that. Tater will too."

"It's, he keeps saying, 'girls will love you, decent face, decent money'. And if my boyfriend was my girlfriend it would be one thing but I don't know how to bring it up." Joey goes a little pink after he's done.

"Do you want me to say something to them? They did that to me for a while after I came out to them. And before I came out to them. I get it, it's uncomfortable."

"No, no! No, it's fine."

"Well -- not if it's bothering you. You can ask them to stop. Just say you're not interested, or that you're overwhelmed."

"I _am_ overwhelmed." Joey looks it too, bags under his eyes and shoulders slumping.

"Which is why you don't need your overbearing teammates making you uncomfortable. Ask them to stop and if they don't, I'll tell them. But they'll probably be cool about it. They were in your spot before."

"Yeah, okay." Joey doesn't look convinced, but Jack doesn't want to push it anymore.

"How's everything else? Are you eating enough? Making friends?"

"You sound like my mom." Joey rolls his eyes but he cracks a small smile.

"You are not the first rookie to tell me that. But you still have to answer the questions."

"Yeah, I'm good. Most of the people I know are on the team, though. But yeah, I'm good."

"Good. I'll let you go, I just wanted to check in."

"Yeah. Thanks, Jack."

When Jack gets home that afternoon, he has three missed calls from Shitty. He calls him back as he makes dinner.

"JACK."

"Hey, Shits. What's up?"

"How did your date go?! Lardo and I have been waiting for an update since yesterday."

"Oh. It was good."

"Just 'good'? Or good like goooooood?"

"How high are you right now?"

"That is _inconsequential_. Answer the question."

"It was 'he's coming over for dinner tomorrow' good."

Shitty makes an inhuman noise and Jack resists the urge to hang up on him.

"Coming over for dinner. . . or for something else?"

"For actual dinner, Shitty. I haven't even known him a full week yet."

"That doesn't matter all the time."

"It matters when I really like him and want it to last longer than a week."

"So he's actually a cool person?"

"He's really interesting. I just -- I'm really looking forward to talking to him tomorrow." Even though there's no one around, Jack is blushing even before Shitty's _aw_.

"So he's coming over. Do you need help cleaning? Got condoms?"

" _Shitty_!"

"What! I want you to be safe but also impress the cute boy."

"I'm good. On both accounts."

"You're sure --"

" _Very sure_."

 

* * *

 

When Jack opens the door Thursday night, for a moment he and Bitty just stare at each other. Bitty appreciates the way the dark wash jeans fit Jack's legs and the way the navy t shirt looks around his biceps. Jack is. . . Bitty doesn't really know what Jack is looking at on him, but he seems to be enjoying it.

"Oh, sorry," Jack finally says. "Come in."

There's an awkward moment when Jack and Bitty are both standing in the hallway, facing each other, both trying to figure out if they're going to kiss. Finally Bitty rolls his eyes at the both of them. "Come here for a second."

Jack leans down and Bitty leans up and their lips are meeting softly once, twice.

"Hi," Bitty says afterwards, faces still close together. "It's good to see you again."

"You too," Jack says, visibly more relaxed. "Here, I've got everything in the kitchen." He notices at that point the tupperware that Bitty is carrying. "You didn't have to bring anything."

"Don't get too excited, it's just leftovers I made for work." Bitty says, wandering into Jack's kitchen.

"Which work?" Jack follows Bitty.

"The one my roommates and I run. We run a meal delivery service out of our apartment."

"How does that work?"

"It wouldn't, if our customers weren't literally just two people. But we have to be licensed by the state, which is a pain, considering we're basically just making extras of the meals we make anyway."

"Two customers?"

"One is a single mom and one is an elderly woman in our building. It helps everyone out." Bitty starts taking ingredients out of bags. "I figured I'd leave the steak and sweet potatoes up to you and make some sauces?"

"That works." Jack sets the oven and starts pulling out the cutting board. "So, I feel like the last time we talked about me, and you know all about my job. But I don't know anything about yours, really. How did you decide it?"

"Oh boy, that's a can of worms. Well, I guess I started opening it the other day. So I went to Brown at first, got a hockey scholarship. And then I really sucked at hockey. And they can't take away your scholarship because you suck, which is a good thing. But I hated playing on that team. Or not playing, as it went. And then I wasn't happy in my major --"

"What was your major before?"

"Modern culture and media. It was interesting, and -- I used to have a vlog -- I thought it was something I could use. But then the hockey thing, and I realized it just wasn't what I wanted my career to be. So I dropped out, and when I told my parents -- they were so _angry_ \-- the whole story came out. About the hockey, about being gay, about how I didn't want to do that with my life. And then when I wouldn't go back to Georgia they told me not to bother until I figured myself out."

"So what did you do?" Jack asks, knife frozen over the sweet potato he was supposed to be cutting, while Bitty was deftly sautéing garlic.

"I figured myself out. Got a few jobs, mostly in kitchens. Got the job at the rink, that was a good one. Never thought hockey would be a plus in getting me a job. And then I saved up enough money to go back to school. And at that point, I had realized I really should be making food. So JWU was the obvious choice if I wanted to stay in Providence. I got in, I eventually went on Chopped, here we are." Bitty glances at Jack's hands. "Jack? You gonna cut that potato?"

"You're incredible," Jack tells him, before turning attention back to his sweet potato.

"Oh, well. Thank you." When Jack glances up, Bitty is blushing.

"So you're graduating in May?"

"Yeah. Finally." Bitty turns the stove down and lets the mixture he has in a pan simmer. "And I've already applied to all of my internships. Now I just has to hope one of them pans out."

"Are they all in the area?"

"Oh, no. I wish. There's two in Boston. But the rest are all over the place. I'd rather stay here but --" Bitty shrugs. "And then after an internship I can either get a real job or go back to grad school. And I'm done talking about my professional future, subject change please."

"Right, sorry. Um. What are your roommates like?"

"My literal roommate is Brad, we live in the same bedroom. He's in a restaurant management program at JWU. And then there's Jenna and Noah, they're in the other bedroom. Jenna is a finance major, and Noah is never home and has switched his major like three times so I have no idea what he does other than pay rent."

They continue making dinner, and whatever sauces Bitty has been making are fragrant enough that his own mouth waters.

"Do you cook a lot for yourself, or do they feed you?" Bitty asks as Jack is keeping an eye on the steak in the oven by sitting on the floor in front of it and staring. Bitty is charmed.

"Mm, a little bit of both." Jack opens the over door to check before deciding it's not done and closing it. "When my dad was playing, the game was different. No one was really eating for the job they were doing, lots of beer, lots of greasy diner food on the road. I think my dad grew up a bit when he retired and decided to learn to cook. So he taught me. Now, the attitude is different. The team feeds us good food on the road, feeds us good food at home too if they can. Tries to make sure we're eating right."

"That's what I want to do eventually," Bitty says as Jack pulls out the steak. "That's why I really got into this field."

"You like feeding jocks?"

"I like feeding anyone. And I --" Bitty bites his lip, decides he's already been vulnerable in front of Jack and it worked out. "And I really love sports. And athletics in general. I figure skated before hockey, and then hockey. It was my whole life, both of them. And I miss that. So it's a way for me to be involved."

Jack doesn't say anything, just wraps one arm around Bitty from behind and gives him a quick hug.

"So. Wine?" Jack says, gesturing with a bottle. "Don't ask me what it is, because I don't know. My parents left it here."

"Sure."

They sit down at the table after that, and the table is more romantically set than Bitty would have expected, for some reason. There's a nice tablecloth and even a candle.

"I did not make this," Jack says, after some appreciative groaning around the steak. "I don't make food this good. What did you put in the sauce?"

"Crack," Bitty says without thinking, because his primary source of socialization is his roommates, who are all thirteen year olds on the inside. Luckily Jack seems to think it's funny. "Sorry, it's actually mostly garlic and butter. It's pretty hard to go wrong there."

After dinner Bitty gives Jack one of the cherry turnovers he made.

"This is delicious."

"Thank you. Pie is my specialty, but I do all right with any kind of pastry." Bitty gasps. "You haven't had one of my pies yet, have you?"

"Um. No?"

"At some point, I'll have to have you try it. They're pretty great."

"Modest," Jack teases.

But ultimately, the food is good, the wine is good, Jack is good, and straddling Jack and making out on his couch is better than everything else. There's music playing softly in the background, and it's only until Bitty hears Carrie Underwood that he has to break the kiss.

"Is this -- do you have on the country station?" he says, nose wrinkled.

"Um. Yeah." Jack looks a little abashed.

"You are _Canadian,_ how did you end up liking country?"

"Hey! There's Canadian country singers!"

"Yeah, like _two_. Didn't you grow up in Montreal? That's a real, actual city right?"

"Yeah, but -- country music always makes not being in a city sound so nice. Stars and truck rides and bonfires and --"

Lord help him, he actually sounds a little wistful. Bitty sighs.

"Gosh, you're ridiculous. Now I know where to take you on a date," Bitty says before he kisses him again.

Jack's mouth still tastes a little bit like wine, and Bitty goes back to chasing it out of his mouth. Jack hums with appreciation against his mouth, and the hand that was sitting politely on his lower back slides down to cup his ass.

Bitty tries to move closer without even realizing it, pressing against Jack's mouth harder. He lets out a little moan when Jack's hands tighten on his body, and the kiss grows a little frantic. Bitty keeps one hand on Jack's shoulder and tightens the other in Jack's hair.

Without realizing it, Bitty has started trying to grind against Jack's stomach to get friction. He had been peripherally aware that he was hard, but now he can't ignore it. He finally pulls back and opens his eyes to look at Jack, who keeps his eyes closed for a few more seconds before opening them. Jack comes back to himself a little bit, clears his throat and removes his hand from Bitty's ass to put it back on his hip.

"Okay. So. We should. Maybe cool it down for a bit." Bitty is embarrassed by how out of breath he is.

"Probably," Jack says, panting a little bit too. "Um. A little fast?"

"Overwhelming," Bitty says. "Not all bad, but. A lot."

"I can't remember the last time I had sex," Jack blurts out.

"It's been at least a year for me," Bitty confesses.

"Probably more like three for me. And even longer since -- with a guy."

"I don't remember if I got tested after the last time, so I probably should. Do that."

"I get tested at the beginning of the season."

Bitty takes a deep breath. "Okay, so. Not tonight. But that is something I. I want with you. If we're on the same page."

"Yeah, we are. Same page."

"Okay. You're on the road for a while. Maybe let's. Revisit this? Once you're back?"

Jack lets out a long breath before nodding. "Yeah. That sounds good."

"Okay," Bitty repeats again, before nodding. "Okay." He slides backwards off the couch and onto his feet. "I should probably go."

"Are you okay to drive?" Jack says, as he watches Bitty try to surreptitiously rearrange himself in his pants.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Bitty blows a breath up at his hair. "Okay. I'm going to actually leave now."

"I'll clean your dish and give it back to you next time I see you?"

"Yeah, sounds good." Jack walks Bitty to the door.

"Text me when you get home?" Jack asks.

"I will. Kiss me goodnight?"

Jack doesn't respond, just does, without hesitation but chaste. No point in working themselves back up again, Bitty figures.

"I'll text you," Bitty promises as he walks out the door. "Have a good trip!"

"Thanks, I will!" Jack calls as Bitty starts to walk away.

 

* * *

 

They lose in Dallas, so Jack's captains dinner with Tater and Rigo turns into an hour and a half of bitching about roadies, which Jack enjoys more than he should.

When Jack gets back to his room after, he has a few texts from Bitty, which makes his heart leap.

 _From: Eric Bittle_  
Hey, I saw the loss, I'm sorry honey  
I'm also sorry I didn't text earlier  
I was swamped with work and I was worried I would bother you

Jack lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding, and calls him.

"Jack," Bitty says, and Jack feels his mouth tick up into a smile. "Hi. How are you?"

"I'm all right. Had dinner with Tater and Rigo."

"Holding up okay?"

"Yeah. It's just one loss. I'm not worried yet." Jack pauses. "I get grumpy when we have a few of them in a row though. Just a warning."

"Grumpy, huh?" Jack can picture Bitty's smile. "Well, then, Monsieur Grumpy," and Jack has to laugh at Bitty's accent destroying the poor French word, "I guess I'll just have to be prepared."

"Yeah. I'm --" Just be honest, Jack tells himself. "-- I'm really excited to get back and see you."

"Yeah. Me too." Bitty hums thoughtfully. "We should make some plans."

"Let's go out to dinner? Somewhere nice?"

"Sure."

"I get back Wednesday night. Thursday work okay?"

"Ye -- oh shoot. No. I promised Jake I'd work. Friday?"

"Friday works."

"Friday, then."

Jack lays back against the headboard. "Tell me about your day?"

"Well, Jake keeps scheduling me. I keep telling him he needs to find someone else."

"This is your food truck boss?"

"Food truck boss, I like it. I'm telling Jake that's what you call him. Yes, that's the one. I really want to cut back on my hours. Honestly I just want to quit all together. I'm already working two other jobs, you know? And going to school. And I'm actually okay on money right now without it."

"And you told him to find someone else?"

"Yeah. I tried to be nice and say he needs to start looking for someone and I didn't want to leave him hanging, you know?"

"I do. But it sounds like he's taking advantage of that."

"He is. But I'm letting him, so I guess I'm the idiot."

"Eric, you know that's not true."

Bitty sighs. "I don't, actually? This is not the first time something like this has happened to me. I keep getting myself into situations like this."

"There's nothing wrong with trying to make people happy --"

"I guess I'm just a _people pleaser_ ," Bitty says darkly in a tone that makes Jack sure Bitty has been called that more than once.

"Hey, no. First, you're not _just_ anything. Second, there's nothing wrong with trying to make other people happy, except when you put their needs above yours."

"It's easy to say that. Harder to do it."

"I know. I really do. But you deserve to put yourself first every once and a while."

Bitty makes an unhappy noise down the line.

"Throw me under the bus. Say your boyfriend is being too needy and you have to quit."

"Ah, my boyfriend, being too needy, huh?" Bitty says, and Jack is relieved at his lightened tone. "Guess we'll have to do something about that. _Oh wait_ \--" Jack hears scrambling on the other end of the line. "I got my results back. All clean."

"Oh?" Jack feels himself sitting up a little bit straighter.

"Yeah. That's what I was going to call and tell you earlier, but I was worried I would be interrupting something. I don't know if you've told the guys or whatever --"

"I've told Tater and Rigo. Not a lot, just that I'm seeing someone."

"Oh. Are they -- have they been --"

"They've always been supportive. Most of my teammates have been. I think I'm pretty lucky."

"I'm glad you have that."

"I wish everyone got to have it," Jack says, thinking of younger Bitty, of Joey.

"Hey. You're trying to be that for others, right? That's enough, Jack. That's always enough."

 

* * *

 

Jack thought he was prepared to see Bitty after not seeing him for a week and a half. It's not like he's used to seeing him every day; he's only known him for a few weeks. But after late night phone calls and sporadic text messages, he's not prepared to be faced with Bitty in tight black jeans and a dark green sweater sliding into his passenger seat.

"Hey," Bitty is saying, leaning over the console to toss his bag into the back seat before laying a hand on Jack's face. "Welcome back," he says, before kissing him.

Maybe Jack should feel bad, but he doesn't. He reaches out and buries one of his hands in Bitty's hair and wraps the other arm around him as much as he can in the car, and deepens the kiss. Feeling a thrill go through him when Bitty makes a surprised sound and then moans, he does his best to pull him close, sliding their tongues together wet and filthy.

Probably too much for the car, he thinks, brain finally catching up to the rest of him as he breaks off the kiss.

"I missed you," Jack says, and looks at Bitty, flush starting to rise in his cheeks, hair no longer in place.

"Yeah," Bitty pants. "I could tell."

They stare at each other for a long charged moment.

"You know," Bitty says, thoughtfully. "I'm not really so interested in dinner anymore."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I think we should. . ." Bitty trails off, biting his lip, suddenly shy. Jack takes a moment, decides he's at the "fuck it" stage of this, and takes a leap.

". . . Maybe go back to my place?" he finishes for Bitty, hoping he's not overstepping.

"Yeah. Yes. Let's do that."

So they do.

When they get through the door, Jack's not surprised when he gets pushed up against it, Bitty pulling him over with his hands in his hair so that he can reach to kiss him almost frantically. Jack slides a hand down his back to grab his ass, making Bitty lean into him harder.

They're pressed up against each, every part of the line of their bodies touching, and it's not enough. Jack breaks off the kiss and pants.

"Bed?" Bitty says, just as breathless.

"Bed," Jack confirms, and grabs his hand to tug him down the hall.

Jack manages to tug Bitty's sweater over his head, but that's it before Bitty fists two hands in Jack's shirt and tumbles them both onto the bed, Jack barely managing to not crush Bitty underneath him. Bitty doesn't seem to notice, pulling him down to kiss him deeply, hooking one of his legs around one of Jack's to haul them closer together.

It's already good, just the pressure of their bodies together lighting up Jack's spine. He props himself up with one arm and fastens the other around Bitty's waist, lifting his hips off bed so that they're even closer. Bitty whimpers once Jack can feel the hard line of Bitty's dick pressing into his stomach.

Jack pulls back and decides that as hot as fully clothed grinding has been, it's time for the pants to go. He starts with Bitty's, undoing the button and sliding down the zipper before trying to tug them off by grabbing the legs by Bitty's ankles.

They don't budge. He frowns and tugs a little harder, which slides Bitty down the bed a few inches but doesn't pull the pants off. Bitty starts laughing at him.

"Here, you have to -- from the top --"

Jack finally hooks his fingers under the waistband and rolls them off. Bitty is still laughing at him a little, smiling and giggling while Jack pulls his socks off. But then he's naked except for his briefs, but before Jack can take those off, Bitty is tugging at his t shirt.

Jack finally just stands up to undress, fingers slightly clumsy in his eagerness. He almost falls over while trying to balance enough to take his socks off, which only sets Bitty off laughing again. But Jack laughs too, up until he lies back down on top of Bitty with nothing between them.

Jack has to pause, though. Because --

"I thought you were joking," he says, tracing the rainbow flag on Bitty's thigh.

"Nope," Bitty says, popping the p. "I've had it for a few years now. Haven't really felt the need to get anything else."

"I like it."

Jack stops wasting time and gets his mouth on the long slender neck under him, first just placing gentle kisses in a line that make Bitty sigh and say "Jack" breathlessly, but then baring his teeth. It makes Bitty squeak and wrap his legs tighter around Jack's waist. Jack hums triumphantly, placing a sucking kiss to underneath Bitty's ear.

Meanwhile, Bitty's hands are slowly driving Jack crazy. One keeps tugging at Jack's hair when Jack does something he likes, and the other keeps stroking firmly down his back.

"What do you want?" Jack says into Bitty's ear, enjoying his shiver.

"I don't want to let you go," Bitty murmurs, one hand slipping down to grab Jack's thigh. Jack gets an idea.

"I think that can be arranged."

Jack grabs the lube out of his nightstand and arranges them so Bitty can wrap around him from behind. Bitty gets the idea, taking the lube from Jack to slick himself up. The wet sound makes Jack shudder, and he moans with Bitty when Bitty pushes between his thighs.

"Oh shit," Bitty says, breathily, in Jack's ear. "Your thighs, Christ."

"Good?" Jack asks, a little laughter sinking into the breathlessness. He stops laughing when Bitty starts to move.

"So good," Bitty moans into his ear, and Jack shivers. He tenses when Bitty wraps his hand tight around his dick.

"Aaaah, Eric," Jack says, hips moving forward into Bitty's hand and his legs clenching around Bitty without thinking.

Bitty gasps and starts thrusting faster, and the hand around Jack's dick gets a little uncoordinated, but Jack can't mind. Not when Bitty is making such beautiful noise, right into his ear, warm breath skittering down his neck and making him shiver.

Bitty sucks a messy kiss into the base of Jack's neck before gasping out, "I'm close".

"Hold on," Jack says. "Hold on, let me turn over."

Jack settles on his back and tugs Bitty up until he's straddling him, and wraps a hand around Bitty's dick.

"Oh God," Bitty says, eyes falling shut, brow creasing. Jack tightens his hands and watches the muscles in Bitty's body clench. "So good. I'm close," he gasps as Jack starts to move his hand faster. "I'm --"

Bitty goes quiet when he comes, his hips pushing urgently into Jack's hand. Jack had forgotten how much he liked this, seeing someone buried in how good their body feels. When Bitty's done riding the aftershocks and gently removes Jack's hand from his dick, Jack spares a thought to his own dick, twitching when he can feel himself brush up against Bitty's ass.

Once Bitty gets his breath back though, he's apparently got a plan.

"Wanna blow you," Bitty says, turning around on top of Jack so that Jack gets a view of his ass. "Is that okay?" Bitty asks, peaking over his shoulder at Jack.

"Yeah, yes, please."

"Okay," Bitty says, and gets to work.

Jack had forgotten how good this was, too. He whimpers when Bitty just closes his lips around the tip, and moans when Bitty slides his tongue around indulgently. He cries out when Bitty starts bobbing his head, and then finally grabs Bitty's thighs, a little rudely but Bitty doesn't seem to mind, for something to grab onto.

He warns Bitty when he's going to come, and then ends up biting his fist. Bitty doesn't pull off, and it's so good, so overwhelming that there's tears in the corner of Jack's eyes.

Jack gasps for air when he's finally done, and Bitty slides off of Jack to side, his head by Jack's calves, to do the same.

"Shit," Bitty finally says, and Jack can't help but agree.

"That was good. Great. Yeah."

"Lost your words?" Bitty says, laughing a bit but still so breathless.

"Something like that." Bitty rolls over from his stomach to his back and sprawls out a bit. Jack loves the look of him, the way his eyes are just slits between his eye lids, the content smirk on his face, the flush receding from his body but he's still warm and pliant.

"Are we showering tonight?" Bitty asks.

"I don't know if I want to try to stand for long enough to take a shower."

"Fair. Do you have any wetwipes?"

Jack fishes some out of his nightstand and Bitty wipes down their chests before giving one to Jack for his hands. Jack swings his legs out of bed in search of some underwear.

"I'm staying, right?" Bitty says from the bathroom, where he's washing his mouth out.

"I was hoping you would." Jack trades places with him to brush his teeth.

"Oh good. I do not want to try to rideshare it home right now."

Bitty is already curled up in a ball under the blankets, and Jack can already tell he's going to be stealing all the blankets. Oh well. Jack slides in next to him.

"Hey, Eric --" Jack starts, but Bitty interrupts him.

"You know you can call me Bitty, right?" Bitty says, accent the strongest Jack's ever heard it as he relaxes into Jack's bed. "I think we're past formalities."

"I can call you what?" Jack asks, thrown off. Bitty is completely still for a second before sitting bolt upright, rolling over on top of him and framing Jack's face between his hands.

"Bitty? All my friends call me Bitty? No one but you and my managers call me Eric?" Bitty says, almost urgently.

"I -- I've never heard anyone call you anything but Eric," Jack says, a little confused. Bitty stares at him, hands smushing his face, and then laughs.

And keeps laughing. Jack scowls.

"Hey," he says, poking Bitty in the ribs. "Stop laughing at me."

"I'm not laughing at you," Bitty says, laughter trailing off. "I just -- Did I introduce myself to you as Eric? That's so unlike me."

"I don't really remember?" Jack says, trying to wrack his brain. "But I've never heard anyone call you anything but Eric. I'm not sure I've heard anyone call you anything, actually."

"That's a good point," Bitty muses. "You should meet my roommates sometime."

"They know I exist, right?"

"Yes. We haven't moved _that_ fast. It was my hockey nickname and it just stuck and became my regular nickname."

"Bitty," Jack says. "Can I still call you Eric sometimes?"

"Sure," Bitty says. "You can pretty much call me whatever you want, as long as it's not Dicky. I just can't believe we slept together before you called me by my name."

"Hold on, go back to Dicky --"

"Oh _no_. No one calls me that that's not a relative." Bitty settles back down in bed. "Well. I know what we're doing on our next date."

"Does it involve that again?" Jack asks. "Because I would be amenable."

Bitty laughs at him.

"Maybe. But I'll keep it a secret for now. Are you busy on Thursday?"

"Just have practice. Game day Friday so neither of us should be up too late, probably."

"Perfect. You should come over to my place. Five sound okay?"


	4. Chapter 4

"Hi, Mom," Jack answers, distracted, reading the last text Bitty sent him about their date on Thursday.

"Hi Jack, how are you?"

"I'm good." He starts composing a text back to Bitty.

"Are you sure? You sound a little distracted. Do you want me to call back?"

Jack hits send.

"Oh, no, sorry, I was just texting Bitty." Jack smiles to himself. _Bitty_. It feels like a he's in on the best joke.

"Who's Bitty?"

"Eric? It turns out that he actually --"

"Who's Eric?"

Jack stops. And tries to remember. He's definitely talked to his parents since he and Bitty went on their first date. And he had definitely planned on telling his parents that they were dating.

He apparently just. Didn't.

"Oh, um, well. I kind of -- met someone?" Jack guiltily rubs the back of his neck.

"Oh! Oh. His name is -- Eric? Or --"

"He goes by Bitty. It was hockey nickname, but he doesn't play anymore. We've, um. Been on a few dates."

"How many is a few?" Alicia asks, a little suspicious.

"Three? Ish."

"Why didn't you tell us before?" Jack hears a note of worry in her voice and cringes.

"I meant to, but with the roadie and everything it just kind of. Yeah. I'm sorry. I really like him."

"Oh, well. That's good!" Alicia clears her throat. "Well. I called to see if you were planning on staying here when you play here next week."

"Yes, of course. I can tell you more about Bitty then? I think -- I think you'd really like him."

"I'm sure we will, Jack."

 

* * *

 

Bitty opens the door on Thursday dressed in a dirty apron, an old t shirt, and sweats.

"Hey, come in," Bitty says, standing aside to let him in. He tips his head back so Jack can kiss him hello, light and soft. "I just need to get dressed really quick and then we can go."

"No problem."

Bitty walks down the hallway and Jack is left in the main living room, which is cut off from the kitchen by a large sheet of plastic that Jack can't figure out.

_To: Shitty  
I think I'm dating Walter White_

_From: Shitty_  
Did you rewatch Breaking Bad AGAIN  
Was our summer marathon not enough for you???

Jack takes a picture of the plastic sheeting barricading off the kitchen.

_To: Shitty  
[img_234]_

_From: Shitty_  
I thought you said he was a Chopped kind of cook  
Not a crystal kind of cook

 _To: Shitty_  
He was literally on Chopped, you watched it  
I'm confused too but he was on the Food Network

_From: Shitty  
Please don't do anything I wouldn't involving a Winnebago_

_To: Shitty  
What wouldn't you do involving a Winnebago_

Bitty comes back out after that, stepping behind the plastic to grab what looks to Jack like the kind of bags pizza gets delivered in.

"Hey, Eric? What's the plastic for?"

"Huh? Oh, it's just for cleanliness purposes. It's not technically required to serve food, but it makes the inspectors happy." Bitty twirls his keys around his finger. "Ready to go?"

"Yeah. Do I get to know where we're going?"

Bitty looks him over with consideration.

"If you really want to know, I'll tell you."

Jack thinks about it. Decides he'd feel better if he went into tonight with some idea of what they were going to do. "Yeah, I think a general idea would be good. If that's all right."

"No problem. We're going stargazing."

"Stargazing?"

"Stargazing. In the truck."

And then Jack gets it.

"Just like --"

"Yep, in the song. Let's go, Mr. Zimmermann."

Jack doesn't really know where they're going, just that they're going towards the coast. Eventually Bitty pulls off the main road onto a bumpy dirt one.

"Aren't you a little afraid we'll get stuck?" Jack says, a little transfixed by Bitty in sunglasses in the early evening sun.

"Nah, I've got four wheel drive."

"That's maybe the hottest thing anyone has ever said to me," Jack says, only half joking. Bitty lets out a peel of laughter as he parks the truck.

"Gosh, you're only dating me for my truck, aren't you?"

"Caught me."

Bitty has parked them overlooking a small cove, and he gets out and puts the tailgate down.

"C'mon," he says, holding out a hand to Jack. "I brought blankets and food."

Bitty is prepared. He brings food out of the insulated bag, hot, melty sandwiches. He's also got enough blankets and sleeping bags that they're padded from the hard surface with plenty to spare for once it gets cold, which Jack can tell it will. The sun is already mostly down and there's a chilly wind coming off the ocean.

They hurry to eat while there's still enough light to see their food. When they finish, they lean against the side of the truck. Jack slides down until he can curl into Bitty's shoulder under the blankets. It's still just light enough that Jack can see Bitty grin down at him before kissing his cheek.

"Don't fall asleep on me just yet," Bitty warns. "I brought pie."

"Pie?"

"Apple. I told you pie was my specialty, right?" Bitty says, dislodging Jack from his shoulder to reach for the insulated bag again. "And apple fit the theme."

After eating the -- admittedly amazing -- pie, they lay on their backs and look up at the stars.

"I think this is the part where I tell you what the constellations are, but I slept through most of astronomy in high school. I just took it so I didn't have to dissect another frog," Bitty admitted.

"I don't know any either."

"I kind of think those right there look like a dick, though."

Jack laughs and shifts his arm to let Bitty snuggle closer.

"I think this is one of the most thoughtful dates I've ever been on," Jack says truthfully, unable to look Bitty in the face when he says it.

"Really? It's just a picnic in a truck."

"But you --" Jack can't quite put into words what he's feeling, the sensation of being _known_ and better yet, _accepted_. "Trust me. There's nowhere else I'd rather be."

 

* * *

 

The week before they leave for their game against the Habs, Jack steps out of the locker room to confirm the flight times with his mom.

"It'll be so good to see you, Jack," Alicia says. "It feels like it's been forever. And we want to hear more about Bitty."

"Haha, yeah. I'll tell you all about him. Hey, I've got to go, but I'll text you and Dad when we board."

"Bye, Jack, love you."

"Love you too, Mom."

Jack turns around to head back into the locker room after hanging up and nearly jumps out of his skin when he finds Joey lurking behind him.

"Um," Joey starts, looking a little guilty. "Are you, uh. Staying with your parents in Montreal?"

"Yeah?" Jack says, a little confused. "I usually do when we play the Habs."

"Do you -- just ask if you can?"

"Well, yeah. I ask the coaches and let everyone know in case they need me for something."

Joey shifts uneasily in front of Jack.

"So if -- I wanted to stay with someone while we were on the road --"

"Are you thinking about staying with your boyfriend in Winnipeg?" Jack asks. Joey flinches and then looks around like he's expecting someone to jump out with a camera. Jack's heart hurts for him. "Sorry."

"No, you're right. It's just, it's not like I can bring him to the hotel, you know?"

"Well, you could. Rent another room. That's what I would do if I was going to meet my boyfriend on the road. But -- not going to work if you don't want anyone to know."

"You have a boyfriend?"

Jack feels himself getting hot in the face. "Oh, uh. Yeah. I do. It's kind of new, but. It's good."

"Why doesn't anyone else know? I thought you thought they would be cool with it," Joey says accusingly.

"Tater and Rigo know. I haven't been _keeping_ it from anyone," Jack says, feeling defensive. "Just not everyone knows yet. Like I said, it's pretty new. Only a few weeks."

"Are you going to bring him around?"

Jack shrugs.

"Hopefully. He's going to school and working, so. It might be a while before he gets time. But I hope he'll meet the team eventually, yeah."

 

* * *

 

They kick Bitty out of the library at midnight. He wants to kick himself for forgetting about the shortened Sunday hours, but he goes willingly enough. It's a good enough excuse to stop studying for the night.

He seems to be the only person still left at the library, but he's not concerned until he gets outside and there's six inches of snow on the ground.

Bitty stops dead in his tracks and just stares. It was well above freezing when he got to campus. There was barely any clouds when he got to campus.

And now it was snowing.

Not just a little bit of snow, oh no. Big clumps of white.

"This is what I get for being a good student," Bitty mutters, and goes to get his car.

It's somehow colder inside the truck cab than outside it. Bitty grits his teeth and shuts the door, hoping to start the truck and crank the heat.

He puts the key in the ignition, but instead of turning over, it cranks slowly without ignition.

Bitty stares in disbelief.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

He tries again, but Betsy doesn't waver, the cranking getting slower and slower until Bitty finally turns the key back.

Bitty is _not_ going to cry in the parking lot of the school library. He's not.

He just really, really feels like he's going to.

"Why do you do this to me, Betsy?" he moaned, putting his head down on the steering wheel. "I've never stranded _you_ in the snow. Even that one time when it snowed so hard the cops canceled class and it took two hours to get home."

Betsy didn't answer.

Bitty sniffles once. _Not_ crying. He takes a minute to compose himself before digging for his phone and wallet in his bag. He fishes his auto club card out and unlocks his phone to dial, but before he does he has two texts from Jack.

_From: Jack <3  
I know you're studying but I wanted to say I'm thinking of you_

_From: Jack <3  
text me when you get home so I don't worry?_

Bitty stares.

He knows that he shouldn't. It's barely been a month. They've been on four dates, and spent the night together twice. They're probably not at the "it's midnight and my car won't start" stages but. Fuck it.

 _To: Jack <3_  
I'm probably not going to be home until even later than I thought  
the truck won't start  
so I'll just talk to you tomorrow? I don't want to keep you up

Bitty fumbles the phone when it starts vibrating with a call and drops his auto club card between the seat and the console.

"Shit," he says breathlessly, leaning down to fish for it as he answers the phone. "Jack?"

"Bitty," and God, Bitty loves him, he really does, "what's going on?"

"The truck won't start," Bitty explains, feeling his throat get tight at the concern in Jack's voice. "I didn't know it was supposed to snow tonight, so --"

"Where are you? I can try to jump it, and if it doesn't work I can just take you home."

"Oh, you don't have to -- I can call for a tow --"

"Eric," Jack says gently. "I want to. If that's okay. If you really want to call a tow truck can I at least wait with you? So you have heat. It's cold out."

"It really must be cold if you say it is, Canadian," Bitty teases with false levity, even though his eyes are welling up. "If you really want to. It's late."

"I'm already putting on shoes," Jack assures him. "It's the same library as last time, yeah?"

"Yeah, that one. I'm the only one here, so. Easy to find me."

"Do you think I'll need chains? I didn't look out the window." Bitty can hear the door to the stairwell in the background.

"Probably. It's building up pretty quick. Really, Jack, I can just call a tow truck. We don't both need to be out in this."

"It's fine, I can get chains on pretty quick. Hey, Bits, I'm going to need two hands for this. I'll see you when I get there?"

"Yeah. Yeah, that's good. Talk to you soon."

"Hang in there, okay?"

"I will."

The line goes dead and Bitty sighs, grabbing the blanket he keeps behind the front seats for this situation. He settles in and opens Twitter.

_@omgcheckplease: snowed in at the library parking lot. this is what I get for trying to be a good student, y'all_

He scrolls through his feed, but there's nothing of great interest happening. He flips over to search through the Providence hastag and sees plenty of posts about the snowfall, but there's nothing about whether or not class is going to be canceled the next day.

Bitty has been trying to avoid thinking about how easily Jack offered to come rescue him. It's not in and of itself an action that should make him think of the scope of their relationship, but on top of the accommodating acceptance of his schedule, the unquestioning support, and the easy chemistry opening between them, Bitty needs to start preparing himself.

Bitty's been thinking of their relationship in the "seeing where it goes" phase. They're enjoying themselves, finding how they fit together, and feeling out where they might want to go in the future.

Bitty is realizing that they might go a long way.

Bitty is realizing that his future might be _their_ future.

He puts his feet up on the seat and curls up tighter under the blanket, pulling the blanket up to his face. He feels the fabric warm and cool as he breathes out and in, and stares out into the night at the snow blowing in windy swirls. His eyes lose focus as he loses himself in imaging what the future could look like, the small curl of hope warring with the reality of how short of a time they've known each other.

Bitty stays like that until Jack pulls up, the chains on his car loud. Jack is more appropriately dressed for the weather, in boots and a coat, although he didn't change out of his plaid pajama pants. Bitty pops the hood and hops out, letting Jack wrap him in a quick hug.

"Oh, Bits. Aren't you freezing?" Jack asks, taking in his short sleeve shirt and flip flops. "You could get into the car and warm up before we do this."

"I was fine until I got out. Let's get it done." Bitty sighs. "I feel pretty silly. I didn't check the weather at all."

"I knew it could snow, but I don't think anyone expected this," Jack says, already rooting through the back seat of his car. He comes up with a Falconers hoodie and tosses it at Bitty, who puts it on gratefully. There's nothing he can do about his feet, but hopefully they'll be quick. Jack already had the jumper cables out. "Is it -- positive, negative, or -- negative first --"

"I got it," Bitty says, taking the cables from Jack.

"Is it a cold cranking battery?" Jack asks while Bitty starts hooking up the cars.

"No," Bitty says with a sigh. "I know I should have gotten one, but I haven't needed to in all the years I've been here so far. It's probably the cold and the age that's finally gotten to it."

"Yeah, probably." Jack seems a little uncomfortable, a little unsure.

"You can start yours up," Bitty says, deciding to give him a little time to figure it out. Jack starts the car and comes back to stand by Bitty while they let it idle.

"Do you want to stay with me tonight?" Jack blurts. Bitty looks up at him. Jack looks nervous, biting his lip.

"Sure," Bitty says. "I think classes are going to be canceled tomorrow." Jack looks more relieved than Bitty thinks he needs to be. But then he thinks: well, maybe Jack is having the same idea that he is. That maybe this could be a big thing between them.

And he doesn't want to screw it up.

"I'll go see if it'll start now," Bitty says finally. He gets in the cab and says a quick prayer before turning the key over.

It starts.

Jack cheers and Bitty laughs at him before getting out to help Jack disconnect the cables.

"I'll follow you in case it doesn't make it all the way to my place, eh? Do you remember the way?"

"I can get there from here," Bitty says, putting the truck in drive.

It takes a while to get going, the truck spinning its tires before Bitty manages to get it rolling. He and Jack become a slow, meandering caravan through Providence, only passing one other car.

The truck stalls three quarters of the way there. Bitty whines and puts his head down on the wheel as he flips on the hazard lights.

"I just want to go to bed," he tells Jack as he gets out of the car, dangerously close to crying again.

"Soon, Bits," Jack says sympathetically. "Just let me do it this time, okay?"

Bitty does. He leans up against the truck's driver side door and closes his eyes, which feel hot and itchy. He hears Jack's car start and the crunch and shuffle of snow underneath Jack's boots and feels the gentle hand on his shoulder and light kiss to the top of his head. He shifts his weight from the truck to Jack's body and lets Jack wrap an arm around his shoulders.

"It's been a really long day," Bitty mumbles into Jack's coat.

"I know, love. We're almost there." Bitty hears the endearment but makes a conscious decision to not think too hard about it.

They eventually detangle so that Bitty can start the truck and Jack can disconnect the cables. Bitty manages to get the truck moving again and this time manages to pull into Jack's parking garage without issue.

All in all, it's two am by the time they stumble through Jack's front door, cold and wet and tired.

The snow is melting and soaking Bitty's hair and shoulders, and his toes hurt as they start to get feeling back into them. He's shivering a little.

"Why don't you shower?" Jack suggests. "Get warm and then we can go to bed."

"Yeah, okay," Bitty says, dropping his bag by the couch. "Joining me?"

Jack shakes his head. "I'll make you a cup of tea for when you get out. Have you eaten?"

Bitty shrugs. "I ate at five."

Jack kisses his forehead. "Then I'll get a snack too. Go shower."

Bitty drags himself to Jack's shower and makes the water as hot as he can stand it. He doesn't bother with soap or shampoo, just stands with his head bowed and the spray hitting his back until he can feel all of his appendages again. He hears a gentle knock on the door before it opens.

"I grabbed some clothes for you," Jack says. "They'll be big, but."

"Thanks honey," Bitty says, reaching to turn the water off. "I'll be out in a minute."

Jack has left him warm flannel pants that Bitty has to roll the top of several times before they'll stay where they're supposed to, a plain t shirt, and the Samwell hoodie that Bitty knows Jack favors for around the house.

Jack himself is in the kitchen, in comfy plaid pants and a white t shirt, plating slices of the leftover pie from earlier in the week. Bitty looks his fill, enjoying the fall of Jack's bangs, the content expression on his face, the easy way he moves in his kitchen. He looks up when he hears Bitty and smiles, apparently unaware that he's fulfilling all of Bitty's domestic fantasies.

"Hey. You look better."

"I feel better," Bitty says, leaning on the other side of the island and snatching the cup of tea off the counter. "I can feel all of my toes again."

"Always a good thing," Jack says, handing him a plate of pie and a fork. "We can go get a battery tomorrow."

"I'm expecting the text that class is going to be canceled any minute now." Bitty takes a bite of his pie and lets out a _hm_ of happiness. Whatever his other faults and worries are, he can make a damn good pie.

"I'll probably still have practice, but we can work around it." Jack finishes his own piece and puts his plate in the sink. He waits for Bitty to finish his and then takes his plate from him. "Let's go to bed."

The walk down the hallway together, and Bitty strips off the sweatshirt.

"Here," Jack says. "I'll plug in your phone."

"Thanks."

He slides in happily under the covers, stretching out with a sigh. His eyes are itchy from the late night and slide closed against his will. He feels Jack slide in next to him and hears the click of the lamp turning off. Jack settles in besides him, leaning over to kiss his forehead once, and then his mouth. Bitty doesn't bother to open his eyes, instead just weaves his fingers through Jack's hair and holding Jack against him so he can deepen the kiss.

They part with a sigh and Bitty slides his eyes open just enough to be able to make out the shape of Jack next to him.

"Thank you for rescuing me tonight," Bitty whispers.

"You're always welcome," Jack murmurs against his lips, pressing a soft kiss to them once more. "We should sleep."

"Yeah, probably." Bitty reluctantly slips his hands out of Jack's hair.

Jack cracks up.

"Why are you laughing at me?" Bitty says, attempting to sound offended. But Jack's laughter is infectious and he's grinning.

"You looked so sad," Jack says, his grin wide. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Well, I should hope not!"

"Why were you sad?" Jack teases, eyes dancing. "Didn't want to go to sleep yet?"

"I wasn't _sad_ , I'm just tired --" Jack rolls on top of his back, wrapping his arms around him tight and effectively pinning him to the bed.

" _Don't wanna close my eyes_ ," Jack sings into his ear, and Bitty can't breathe from the laughter and weight. " _Don't wanna fall asleep 'cause_ \--"

"Why," Bitty says through giggles, "am I not surprised you like Aerosmith, God, you're _so_ _predictable_ \--"

"I have excellent taste," Jack says primly, squeezing tight. "Bits, what's wrong with you, don't you like my singing --"

"That wasn't _singing_ , and you're squishing me!"

Jack obligingly rolls to the side but takes Bitty with him so that they're spooning comfortably.

"Okay, I wasn't kidding when I said we should sleep," Jack says.

"Right. Sleep now."

They make it ten seconds before breaking down into laughter again.

They do eventually go to sleep. Bitty dozes off thinking of how happy he is to have this, to have laughter in bed and walking down the hall to bed together and someone who is genuinely happy to be with him and who he's genuinely happy to be with.

 

* * *

 

The text that class is canceled for the day wakes Bitty up at five in the morning.

He groans and rolls over, opening the notification so that the light of the screen will go away. He snuggles back into warm cocoon of the blankets and Jack's arms, and almost immediately begins to doze off.

It feels like no time at all that his phone rings again, and this time, it doesn't stop. He reluctantly sits up and unplugs his phone, answering it.

"Hullo?" Bitty says, rubbing his eyes.

"Bitty! Man, where are you?"

Bitty pulls his phone away from his face to look at the caller ID.

"Brad? What's going on, is something wrong?"

"That's what I'm trying to ask you! I know you were in the library last night, and then the text about the snow woke me up and you weren't here, and the last thing you posted on Twitter was that you were stuck at the library --"

Bitty's stomach drops.

"Oh, Brad, no, I'm fine. Jack came and jumped the truck, and we went to his place after."

Brad pauses a beat. Bitty hears Jack start waking up and shifting, and reaches behind blindly to pat him on the shoulder reassuringly. He thinks he ends up gently smacking Jack's forehead.

"So you're fine? You're at Jack's?"

"Yes, I'm fine. I'm sorry, we didn't get here until late and I forgot to send a text."

"That's all right. I just -- panicked a little when I saw you weren't here. You know how they talk about people freezing to death in their cars --"

"Yeah, I know. I'm sorry I scared you, but I kind of wanted to take advantage of this whole no class thing --"

"Oh yeah, I'm going back to sleep. Glad you aren't dead!"

Brad abruptly hung up. Bitty shakes his head and puts his phone back on the nightstand. When he turns around to lay back down, he finds Jack staring at him blearily.

"Brad didn't know where you were?" Jack asks, his voice rough.

"Yeah. But now he knows, so I'm going back to sleep. Class is canceled. Officially." Bitty goes willingly when Jack tugs him down to the bed.

"Good," he hears Jack murmur before he easily slides back into sleep.

 

* * *

 

The next time Bitty wakes up, it's to Jack kissing his hair before making moves to get out of bed.

"No, don't go," Bitty mumbles, reaching one hand out to snag Jack's sleeve.

"Oh, you're awake," Jack says, obligingly laying down. Bitty still hasn't opened his eyes. "I just got the email, they're delaying practice until the afternoon to give it a chance to stop snowing and the plows to work."

"Mm, so I have you for a few more hours."

"Well, we should probably go get your battery at some point."

"Oh shit. I almost forgot." Bitty stretches languidly, then curls back up, and finally opens his eyes. "But we have some time before we need to go, yeah?"

Jack turns so that they're more fully facing each other, reaching to gently sweep a piece of hair off Bitty's forehead. "I'm falling in love with you," Jack says instead of answering, a quiet confessional, blue eyes earnest and serious. His fingertips settle lightly on Bitty's cheeks, tender and careful.

Bitty turns and kisses his fingertips, lightly wrapping his own fingers around Jack's.

"I'm falling in love with you, too."

The light coming in through the cracked curtain is weak and tinted blue. It's not cold in the apartment, really, but it's a temperature that reminds Bitty that it's snowing hard outside. Jack's coloring is washed out in the blank light, making his dark hair look especially stark against the white sheets.

"I didn't realize it until last night," Bitty continues, letting his fingertips settle on Jack's lips lightly. "And I realized that I didn't want to just see where this was going. I wanted it to be more serious than that."

"I'm not good at casual," Jack admits. Bitty can feel his lips moving underneath his fingers. "When I first played hockey -- that was it for me, I knew that's what I wanted to do with my life. And, with you -- this is already something I don't want to lose. Ever. It's kind of intense, I guess. I hope it's not -- I hope I'm not too much."

Bitty is quiet a few heartbeats before speaking.

"It wasn't that sudden for me," Bitty says, finally. "When I bake, when I cook, when I'm feeding people -- it's not intense. It's just -- that's where I belong. That's home. That's what this feels like. It feels like home."

Jack pushes their foreheads together, heads on the same pillow.

"So. . . we're on the same page. Even though we've been dating for barely a month."

Bitty blows out a long breath.

"We are. We're complete idiots, but we're idiots together."

Jack intertwines their fingers and presses small, quick kisses on Bitty's face, making him throw his head back and laugh. Jack presses his mouth wetly to Bitty's throat, and Bitty stops laughing abruptly with a gasp.

Jack pushes himself up onto a forearm to kiss him more firmly, still holding Bitty's hand. But when he pulls away, he gets distracted by something above Bitty's head.

"Jack?"

"Hold on a second," Jack says, still staring at something. He blindly reaches for the nightstand, finally grasping his camera. "Just -- keep your hand there."

Bitty obliges, wanting so badly to ask, but knowing that Jack will explain in time. It's not a hardship to lie there, looking at Jack's serious face and bed head. Bitty can't help but stroke a thumb over Jack's knuckles, hoping he's not ruining the picture.

When Jack turns the camera around to show him the picture, his throat goes tight.

"I love you," Bitty says, hopelessly sincere.

"I love you too," Jack says, just as breathless. He turns to set the camera down, but when he faces Bitty again, Bitty yanks him down so that he can pull their mouths together.

Jack moans, the vibration against his lips driving Bitty to pull them onto their sides. Jack goes easily, grabbing one of Bitty's legs behind the knee and pulling it over his hip. This lets him slide a leg between Bitty's, which --

Bitty gasps at the sudden spike of pressure, his head falling back between his shoulders. Jack takes advantage of that to mouth at his neck and Bitty whines, hips thrusting against Jack's thigh. Bitty wiggles a hand between them to palm at Jack over his pajama pants. The hot puffs of air against his neck as Jack pulls away to pant is gratifying, as is Jack's face, slack with pleasure.

Jack's hand slips up Bitty's leg to his ass, where he encourages Bitty to thrust more against his thigh. Bitty tries to keep up a rhythm with his hand against Jack's dick, but has to pull away to clutch at the back of Jack's t shirt as he gets overwhelmed.

"I'm getting close," Bitty says, a little embarrassed at how rough his voice comes out.

"Okay. Is this enough, or -- ?"

"Just, mm, a little more --"

One of Jack's hand reaches down the back of his pants and between his legs, pushing two fingers behind his balls. Bitty gasps and spreads his legs more, wide eyed, fingers twisting in Jack's t shirt and his toes curling as he struggles to completion.

Finally, the tension building in him snaps and he comes with a gasp, grinding hard to eke out every little bit of pleasure with Jack whispering encouragements in his ear. Heavy warmth spreads through his limbs as he lets Jack hold him close and press small kisses from his ear to his shoulder.

When he catches his breath, Bitty picks up where he left off, straddling Jack's thighs and sliding his hand down the front of Jack's pants to grip him firmly, hot and firm under his hand.

Jack sighs as Bitty starts to stroke.

"Do you need it faster?"

"No, just -- tighter --" Jack moans as Bitty complies, moving slow but keeping his grip tight. He speeds up and watches the change in Jack's breathing, then slows down to watch Jack chase his hand.

Bitty teases him, enjoys the noises he can get Jack to make and the tension building in his body as Bitty keeps him waiting.

"Please," Jack finally gasps out. "Bitty, Eric, please --"

Bitty takes pity on him then, stroking hard and fast, fist tight. Jack shudders when he comes, eyes squeezed shut, hips pushing up into Bitty's hand. He lets out a deep sigh that Bitty mirrors, slumping down to curl up against Jack's shoulder. Jack drapes an arm around his shoulders, rubbing at the ball of his shoulder while they breathe slowly together.


	5. Chapter 5

Bitty gets his first rejection that Thursday.

He's sitting in the student union, killing time before his afternoon class, when his phone vibrates in his pocket. He's expecting a text from Jack, solidifying their plans to meet up after the game the following day, so he happily pulls out his phone and thumbs the screen on.

His heart stutters when he sees it's from the Bruins.

Bitty races to open his email and skims through it quickly.

By the time he finishes it, his hands are shaking. His heart is pounding and he can hear blood rushing in his ears. Underneath the rushing he can hear a faint buzzing noise.

Mindlessly he packs up his computer and grabs his bag, and heads outside. 

He's dialing his mom before he can think twice about.

"Dicky! How are you, baby?"

"Mama, I didn't get it."

"You didn't get what?" she says, sounding faintly concerned.

"The internship. One of the ones in Boston. I didn't get it."

"Oh, honey, I'm sorry," she says. "They don't know what they're missing."

"But, Mama, that was one of the only two around here. And -- and I really want to stay here."

Suzanne is quiet for a moment.

"You were so excited about all the places you applied to a few months ago."

"I know, but --"

"And I know you like it up there, but are you sure you don't just want to stay because of Jack?"

Bitty squeezes his eyes shut tightly. This isn't what he wanted.

"It's not _just_ because of Jack. All my friends are --"

"I'm just worried you're closing off doors before they open just because of a boy." Bitty can hear the disapproval dripping off every word.

"Mama, I love him."

"Oh, Dicky, don't say that. It's only been a few weeks."

"Months. And I'm not closing off doors --"

"-- sure sounds like it --"

"I don't think it's wrong to want stay nearby someone that loves me. I've already built a life here. This is my home and I don't want to leave."

When Suzanne speaks again, it's with a deadly quiet.

"Well. Wouldn't it be nice if you felt like that about here."

Bitty doesn't know what he expected.

"Let's not do this now. Mama, I'll let you go. I just wanted to hear you say it was going to be okay, you know. That's all I wanted."

And then he hung up. And tried very hard not to cry.

Instead he checked the time. Twenty minutes until class. Jack just got home.

"Hey, Bits," comes Jack's easy voice. "How's your day?"

"Pretty bad," Bitty says, resisting the urge to sniffle. "I just made my mom mad at me and I got rejected from one of the internships in Boston."

"Oh, Eric. I'm sorry," Jack says, voice sympathetic. "Is there anything I can do? You have class soon, right? You could come over after?"

Bitty just barely manages to speak around the knot in his throat.

"I -- I really need to work on this paper. I'm going to be up late."

"You could do that here. Or I could come over? Or neither. You just sound really down, bud, let me know what I can do."

"Do you _want_ to come over?" Bitty asks. "I'm probably not going to be very good company."

"Sure. I'll probably wake you up in the morning when I leave for practice, though."

"That's all right. I'll make that sacrifice if I get to see you."

"I'll bring dinner."

"I love you so much."

It feels ridiculously normal to let Jack in that night, take a few of the bags of take out so he can take off his coat. Jack says hi to his roommates, tells them that he brought enough for them too. He laughs when they rag on him for trying to bribe his way into their good graces.

It feels so normal that Bitty feels dazed. He writes his paper quietly, sipping at his hard cider while his roommates got progressively louder. He sighs loudly around ten.

"I'm not getting anything done."

Jack looks up at him, concerned. "Do you need --"

"It's just a little loud. I'll just work in the room." Without another word, he folds his laptop and heads for the bedroom.

He doesn't look back, but he can feel Jack following him. When he turns around, Jack's wearing his worry on his face.

"You didn't have to leave for me, Jack."

"Are you all right?" Jack asks, instead of responding.

"Yeah, I'm just -- it's been a hard day and I couldn't concentrate out there."

"Oh, I can -- I can go home. I know you need to write this paper, so --"

"You're fine, Jack," Bitty says, plugging in his charger and not looking at Jack.

"Bitty," Jack says seriously.

" _What_?" Bitty snaps.

"Please just talk to me. I know you had a bad day. Can I help at all?"

Bitty deflates, sitting on his bed. Jack sits next to him. "No. I just. . . I really wanted this one. The only one I have left that's less than two hours from here is the Red Sox one. And that's a really competitive one and I know I won't get it. And when I tried to tell my mom why I didn't want to leave here, she just -- just --"

"Didn't get it?"

"No! And she made me sound -- _unreasonable_ about it. Irrational. I get it, she doesn't like that we're dating and she wishes that I would stay single so she could ignore that I'm gay for the rest of her life. Whatever. But then she made it -- seem so terrible that I would want to stay near my boyfriend and my friends."

"Well," Jack says slowly, chewing on his words. "Just because you're not here doesn't mean we have to be apart."

Bitty stares blankly.

"I haven't signed my next contract yet," Jack continues. "So, I could go into free agency if I don't sign an extension. So if you moved out of the Northeast I could follow you."

Before he thinks about it too hard, Bitty is in Jack's lap with his hands tight on his face, forcing Jack to look up at him.

"Don't say that," Bitty says urgently. "Don't even think about it. You can't leave the Falconers."

"I could," Jack says, though it comes out a little garbled since Bitty is squishing his face. "Lots of players switch teams in free agency. Most people don't spend their whole career with one team."

"Jack, that's your family. The whole team is based around you. That would be a _terrible_ career decision."

Jack shrugs. "But I'd get to be with you."

"That's ridiculous. You'd regret it and you know it. If it comes to that we'll do long distance for a while. You're not going to _go to a different team_ , Jesus Christ."

"So if you end up far away we'll just do long distance and it'll be fine?"

Bitty stares blankly.

"You did that on purpose."

Jack looks pleased with himself. "Not exactly. I wasn't lying. I _would_ consider moving depending on where you ended up."

"I don't want you to move. I don't want _me_ to move. But if I do move, I'd rather do long distance than have you give up the Falconers. I just -- I don't want to have to do the long distance thing. This is still going to be fairly new between us, but. I love you. I'd hate to -- to not have this work because my GPA wasn't high enough to get the internship I wanted."

"We'll be okay, Bits. We're a team. We'll figure it out when we get there."

"Burn that bridge when we get there?"

"If you insist. I'm sorry your mom was rude. I'm sorry you didn't get the internship you wanted. I'm sorry we have to watch tape and write a paper when we could be making the most of our time together doing other things."

Bitty smirks. "Other things, huh?"

Jack unceremoniously drops him on the bed. Bitty squeaks, and then laughs.

"Write your paper," Jack commands, but he's laughing and Bitty's laughing and it's going to be okay. 

 

* * *

 

Bitty finds himself humming to himself and biting back grins throughout his shift at the arena the next day.

Truth be told, he's been like this since waking up with Jack that morning. He had only exchanged a few quiet words with him that morning before Jack left to get ready to go to practice, mindful of Brad sleeping still, but the feeling still stuck with him throughout the day.

Bitty feels so much better than the day before, he can't even believe it had only been one day.

He usually keeps an ear tuned into the shouts and cheers of the crowd, but tonight he doesn't pay too much mind to it. Instead, his head keeps drifting to lying down in Jack's bed that night, going over the highlights of the game and the ups and downs of the day.

He doesn't realize anything is wrong until he checks his phone after wiping down the last counter and he has two missed phone calls from Jack. He frowns and pushes to call him back, because he was sure that he would be ready to leave before Jack.

"Hi Bits," Jack answers, and he sounds awful.

"Jack? Honey, what's wrong?"

"Can he come down here," Jack says, and Bitty is confused until he realizes that Jack isn't talking to him. Someone talks in the background of Jack's call and Bitty waits on tenterhooks. "Bitty?"

"I'm here."

"Can you come down to the locker room?"

"Yes but I can't get in past --"

"Security will meet you there. Please, Bits?"

Confused and worried, Bitty can't say no, and gets permission from his manager to leave a little bit early.

 

* * *

 

Later, Jack thinks the surprise was the worst part.

He doesn't see it coming at all, too focused on the puck early in the second period. Normally, he'd be a little bit more aware of his surroundings, but the Red Wings have been too good at forcing turnovers and he's absorbed into the movement of the puck. Rigo is looking for somewhere to send it, and Jack is trying to keep a clear path between them open, so he completely misses the commotion to his right.

There's three impacts. One from the right. One from the front, where he's been thrown into the half wall in front of the Falconers' bench. And then the last one, from hitting the ice without even attempting to break his fall.

Logically, Jack knows he got the air knocked out of him. Illogically, he thinks he's dying as he lies on the ice and gasps.

As soon as the panic of not feeling like he's getting air fades, the intense, crushing pain hits and he's gasping for another reason. He breathes in and it hurts worse, he breathes out and feels lightheaded, and the panic returns.

Jack is only slightly aware of some of the Falconers around him, unable to expand his awareness past his own body. He knows better than to try to get up on his own, but he wants to, just to prove to himself that he can, that's he's not hurt that bad, just for his own peace of mind. But he clamps down on that instinct and waits until Ryan, the head of the Falconers medical staff, is hovering over him.

"All right, talk to me," Ryan says.

"Chest hurts," Jack grits out. "Hurts to breathe."

"One to ten?"

"Ugh. Probably a seven."

"Which leg am I squeezing?"

"Left."

"Which hand?"

"Right."

"Good. Does your back or neck hurt?"

"No."

"Okay. Do you want to try to stand?"

Jack closes his eyes. "I really don't want to get carried out of here."

"We might not have a choice, cap. But let's try sitting up, eh?"

Ryan and another of the medical staff help lever Jack into an upright position. Jack doesn't make any noise, through great effort. Once he's upright, he regrets it immensely. There's something intensely painful about the way his pads are pressing on his chest and he flails trying to get away from it.

"I've gotta stand up," Jack pants, the panic starting to creep in again. "The pads --"

"All right then, up you go," Ryan says, gripping him firmly on one side while another person takes the other. It takes no effort on Jack's part but then he's on his skates, shakier than he's been in years, and he has to keep himself upright. He's not sure he can do it.

"Okay, you picked a good spot, we don't have far to go," Ryan says, not letting him go. Jack's always found comfort in his strong accent, from somewhere in Canada more rural than where Jack grew up, but still from home. He lets it soothe him as he stumbles off the ice.

Jack doesn't even think to look at the bench, at his team, too absorbed with the shocking pain that comes with taking a step. He's never thought about how much impact comes with walking with skates on off the ice, but he's sure he'll never forget again.

When they finally round a corner, Ryan stops him.

"Lay down before you fall down," he says, guiding Jack onto a gurney he didn't know was there. "No cameras, team's not here. Don't be a hero."

Jack goes willingly, lying back onto the gurney. He was expecting relief but he's not getting it, and he fidgets, breath shallow. Before he knows it, they're in the medical room, and Ryan kicks out all the people that don't need to be there.

"Can you raise your arms up?" Ryan asks him, putting on a fresh pair of gloves. Jack tries and has to stop. Ryan picks up a pair of scissors and cuts his jersey off of him. "Are you hurting anywhere else?" he says as he starts to divest Jack of his pads.

Jack has to think about it. "Kinda sore down my whole left side. Nothing like my chest."

"I'm gonna be honest with you. I'm thinking broken ribs," Ryan says, pulling the last of the pads off of Jack's torso, which alleviates some of the pain. "You certainly hit hard enough."

"What happened? I didn't see it coming."

"Seventy three tripped over his own skate and was moving too fast to stop, you got caught in the pile up and hit the board in front of the bench and ricocheted off."

"Did anyone else get hurt?"

Ryan shook his head as he listened to Jack's chest with a stethoscope. Taking the deep breaths as requested of him hurts so bad Jack's eyes water. Ryan continues as he loops the stethoscope around his neck and begins prodding at Jack's left side. "You broke everyone's fall. So there's that."

"Wonderful," Jack grits out as Ryan hit a sore spot. "It hurts right where my pads were on that side. That seems backwards."

"I want an X-ray, but I'm going to guess the only reason you don't have a rib through your lung is because of those pads." Ryan shakes his head. "You're already bruising."

"Great. Awesome."

"Sorry, cap. Let's get some X-rays and maybe you can shower while we wait for them to develop. You smell like you've been playing hockey."

"Yes, because _that's_ what I'm worried about right now."

Ryan just gives him an unimpressed look.

X-rays don't take long, and then they let Jack walk himself to the locker room so he can shower. Ryan doesn't go in the shower with him but insists on standing outside so he can hear if Jack falls. Jack can only use his right hand to wash his hair, since trying to raise his left arm above his shoulder makes him want to cry. Raising his right doesn't feel great either, but it's manageable. He does ask for help getting dressed again, not bothering past sweatpants and a zipped up hoodie.

Jack barely remembers to grab his phone out of his bag, but he calls Bitty once he gingerly settles back on the gurney in the medical room. Both his calls go to voicemail.

The shock is wearing off and the reality is setting in. Even if it's not broken ribs, Jack knows by how much pain he's in that he shouldn't be playing for a while.

Jack knows he should call his parents, or try again to get a hold of Bitty. But the only thing he can think of is the upcoming road series against predominantly Atlantic teams, the Falcs chances for the playoffs, and the other injuries they've had this season.

The cherry on top of his misery is that when he checks, the Falconers have lost the game. Jack just stares at the score, feeling hollow. That's the moment Ryan comes back with his X-rays. He whistles lowly when he gets them up against the light box.

"Jeez, Zimmermann. Don't do anything by halves, do ya?"

Jack squints to see what Ryan is seeing. Ryan helpfully points out what looks to Jack like completely normal areas of bone.

"That's three ribs, broken. I can't tell if there's cartilage torn, but the breaks are severe enough that I think we need to be concerned about that as a possibility."

"So. . . what does that mean?"

Ryan sighs. "Here's what I'm thinking --" Before he can finish, Jack's phone rings with Bitty's contact picture.

"Hang on, that's my boyfriend," Jack mutters, answering the phone. "Hi Bits." He looks at Ryan. "Can he come down here?"

"Don't see why not," Ryan says, raising an eyebrow. "I'll get security to escort him in here."

"Bitty?"

"I'm here." Jack closes his eyes at the sound of Bitty's voice.

"Can you come down to the locker room?"

"Yes but I can't get in past --" Bitty sounds so worried.

"Security will meet you there. Please, Bits?"

Bitty assures him that he's on his way and Jack turns his attention back to Ryan who has an eyebrow raised at him.

"So. Boyfriend, huh? Am I just out of the loop?"

Jack flushes.

"It's, uh. We're kind of. It's new."

"All right. So, as I was saying. Torn cartilage is a definite possibility. So is a cracked sternum, at this point. X-rays can only show so much. I think we should head down to the hospital --" Jack groans. "-- and get a CT scan done."

Jack rubs at his face with his right hand; he still has his left arm pressed close to his side. "Okay. And then what?"

"And then you take it easy and heal. How long you're out depends on if there's torn cartilage. Best case, six weeks. Worst case, months."

Jack feels like his eyes are going to bug out of his head. " _Months_ \--"

"But in the meantime," Ryan says, talking over Jack's panic. "I want to give you a local anesthetic. That'll give you some immediate relief. I'm also going to give you a shot of a strong painkiller. I know you're in pain now, but when that adrenaline fades completely you are not going to be happy and I'd rather head that off. Sound good?"

Jack grumbles.

"Just trust me on this. No matter what the total extent of this is, you're going to want to take your pain meds exactly as you're instructed. We're not just talking about healing that injury. If it hurts too bad for you to take a deep breath, there's a good chance you're going to end up with a nasty case of pneumonia. And coughing when you've got a broken rib? Agonizing. So take your pain meds right, okay?"

Jack sighs. "I will."

Ryan prepares the needles and gives Jack the first shot in his arm. As luck would have it, Bitty walks in just as Ryan sticks the needle in the first spot on his side.

"Oh Jack," Bitty says from the doorway, eyes wide. "What happened?"

"Someone tripped over their foot and threw him into a wall," Ryan says as he removes the needle from one place only to put it in another. Jack tries not to breathe. One more place and Ryan gets up, throwing the needle in a sharps container and putting his gloves in the trash. "Ryan Cook," he says, holding out his hand for Bitty to shake. "I'm the head of the medical staff here."

"Eric Bittle, but call me Bitty," Bitty says, entering the room to shake his hand.

"Bitty, nice to meet you. I'll fill you in, if that's all right with Jack?" Jack nods. "He's got three broken ribs. Pretty nasty ones. I gave him a general anesthetic in the area, and an additional shot of painkiller for everywhere else, because he's going to be black and blue from his thigh to his shoulder."

"Oh, honey," Bitty says, eyes soft with worry. He lays a gentle hand on Jack's arm and strokes with his thumb. "I'm sorry, baby."

"I took X-rays, but it's impossible to tell if he's torn any cartilage on them. We're going to take him by ambulance over to the hospital and get a CT done, then we can start planning our recovery timeline."

Bitty looks between Jack and Ryan. "So how long --"

"At least six weeks. Maybe months," Jack says. He can't look at Bitty. He can't look at Ryan. Instead he looks up at that ceiling and tries to ignore that there's tears building in his eyes.

Bitty doesn't say anything, just slides his hand down Jack's arm to squeeze his hand. Jack loves him fiercely for not trying to say anything to placate him and just letting him be.

"Okay. So. Hospital. Do you want me to ride with you or -- it would probably be better if I met you there, huh? So I could drive us home?"

Jack takes a deep breath and then spasms at the pain. Bitty squeezes his hand tighter. "That sounds good," Jack says, hoarse.

"When the pain meds kick in, they're going to make you a little out of it," Ryan says. "So it's good that you're going to have someone to go home with that can remind you of what you're supposed to be doing. But I don't see the point in delaying any further. Let's get you outta here, eh?"

Bitty leaves with another security escort to help him get out of the parking lot faster, after kissing Jack's temple and assuring him that he'll see him at the hospital.

The medication has started to kick in and Jack feels slightly separated from his body during the ambulance ride. By the time he's settled in a hospital bed, his eyes are heavy and all he wants is his bed and Bitty.

It looks like his bed is going to take a while, but Bitty walks in twenty minutes after he's been there.

"Hi honey, are those meds working? You look more comfortable."

"Mm, yeah." Jack reaches out with one hand and Bitty acquiesces, leaning on the side of the gurney carefully and stroking fingers through Jack's hair. It's ridiculously soothing and Jack's eyes droop a little further, closing them all the way and humming when Bitty uses his nails to scratch at his scalp a little. "Feels good."

"Why don't you try to sleep?"

"'kay."

Jack wakes up long enough for them to move him and take the CT scan, then promptly falls back asleep as soon as he's back in the room. Bitty has to gently nudge him awake when the doctor and Ryan come back with his CT results. Ryan has a stack of papers.

"It's all good news. You've got pretty severe fractures in three ribs on your left side, but you haven't broken anything else in your chest and you haven't torn any cartilage which, I'm going to be honest, is kind of a miracle."

"Oh good," Bitty breathes out.

"So, recovery. You need to take it _easy_. Especially for the first few days. But, I don't want you lying in bed for days, not that I think you will. Walks are good. Working out is not." Ryan flips over his paper. "I'm writing two prescriptions for you. One is a narcotic and I want you to take it for a few days. The other is an anti inflammatory and you start that once you're out of narcotics. If you're in bad pain, give me a call." Ryan pauses. "Are you absorbing this at all?"

"I'm trying," Jack says honestly. "But I'm tired."

"I got it," Bitty says.

"All right, well. That'll have to do. Like I said, if you're hurting, give me a call. You need to take at least ten deep breaths, as deep as you can, once an hour when you're awake. If you can't do that, we can figure something else out. Ice is a good idea, I know you know all about that. I want you to pick up a stool softener too. Those narcotics are not kind."

Jack should maybe be embarrassed that they're talking about stool softeners in front of Bitty but. It's Bitty. If there's anybody Jack wants around in this kind of situation, it's Bitty.

"In ten days or so we can start talking about skating. You're gonna be no contact for a good, long while." Ryan flips his papers back to the front. "That's all I got. I'll call you in a few days to check in on you. Your prescriptions should be filled downstairs. Any questions?"

"Am I okay to have sex?"

" _Jack_ ," Bitty says, turning red and hiding his face in his hand.

Jack shrugs, not bothered. He might be later, once the meds have worn off. "What? I want to know."

Ryan clears his throat. "No, it's good that you asked. Uh. I wouldn't, for a few days. You're probably not going to want to. I'd say if you're still taking the narcotics, just don't. Walking should be the most vigorous thing you do."

"Good to know," Bitty says, who's red to his hairline. "Is there a specific position he needs to sleep in?"

"Whatever is comfortable is fine. Sometimes it's easiest to sleep propped up, but other people say they sleep best lying on the injured side. However you're comfortable." Ryan pauses, hesitating. "Anything else?" he asks, like he's not really sure he wants to answer any other question they may have.

"Nope," Bitty quickly.

"All good," Jack says.

"Great. They're going to get some discharge papers together."

"I should call my parents," Jack says, sighing. He doesn't want to talk to anyone; he just wants to sleep. "Oh, and maybe Tater. And Rigo."

"Call your parents first. The boys will find out one way or another if you don't end up telling them tonight."

Jack nods, and dials his dad, who picks up almost before the first ring finishes.

"Jack," his dad says. "How are you, what's happening?"

"Wow, that was fast."

"Yes, because we've been waiting for you to call. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine."

There's a beat of silence.

"Anything else?" Bob prods. "You did get pulled out of a hockey game tonight. Anything you want to say about that?"

Jack doesn't really hear him, because he's paying attention to Bitty, who's gesturing at the phone.

"Do you want me to talk to him?" Bitty asks. Jack shrugs. Bitty slides the phone from him. "Hi, Mr. Zimmermann, it's Bitty. No, no concussion, he's just on pain meds. Three ribs. Nope, broken. Mmhm. At least. I'm going to try for the weekend. He should be fine. Yeah, I'll have him call you when he's a little more with it. Do you want me to text you? Yeah, you too. No problem."

"What'd he say," Jack asks, trying to keep his eyes open.

"Just that he'll talk to you when you're not drugged into oblivion," Bitty says, handing him his phone back. His gaze softens. "Oh, honey, we need to get you into bed," he says softly, brushing fingers through his hair.

"Mm," Jack hums, letting his eyes fall shut finally. Of course that's the moment the doctor comes in with his discharge papers.

They refuse to let Jack walk out of the hospital despite his insistence that he can, and Jack shoots Bitty a betrayed look when he doesn't take his side. But Jack loses and they wheel him to the pharmacy to pick up his meds while Bitty gets the truck.

"Sorry, Jack," Bitty apologizes when he opens the door for Jack. "It's gonna hurt to get in. One day I swear I'm going to sell this thing and buy something smaller."

"Please don't," Jack says, pulling himself into the passenger seat with a pained grunt. "I like it."

"I knew you only liked me for my truck."

Bitty tries not to focus on anything but driving on the way home, but he's aware that every pothole and rough patch of road makes Jack wince. Getting out of the truck is just as bad as getting in, and by the time Bitty has herded Jack into his bedroom he feels heavy like lead. He gently directs Jack in the general direction of his bathroom and starts arranging pillows.

"Okay, try laying down on that and let me know if it feels okay."

"It's gonna be fine, Bits," Jack says, gingerly easing himself onto the bed. "You could give me a pile of rocks to sleep on and I'd be happy right now, I'm so tired."

"Maybe now, but you'll be regretting it in a few hours."

"That's fine," Jack says, finally reclining back. " _This_ is fine."

"Okay, good. I'm going to leave the bedroom doors open, so shout if you need something. Your phone is plugged and to your left, so you can call me too."

Jack raises his eyes to Bitty's face with a deep frown. "Are you going home?"

"What? No, I'm going to sleep in the other bedroom."

"You're not sleeping here?"

"No, sweetpea. You need a bed to yourself tonight so no one rolls into you in the middle of the night."

"Oh."

"Sorry, honey. But I'm just down the hall if you need me. And I'm going to wake you up in a few hours for your meds. So go to sleep."

Jack is helpless to fight the heavy exhaustion any longer, slipping under as Bitty kisses his forehead and squeezes his hand.

 

* * *

 

Bitty brushes his teeth but foregoes the rest of his nightly routine in favor of crawling under the covers in Jack's spare bedroom, barely managing to send a text to Bob.

_To: Bob Zimmermann  
He's asleep_

_From: Bob Zimmermann  
Thank you Bitty, you are a gift_

_To: Bob Zimmermann  
it's no problem! He would do the same for me_

_From: Bob Zimmermann  
Get some rest, give us an update when you can_

After that, Bitty doesn't even consciously decide to go to sleep. He just wakes up five hours later to his alarm letting him know it's time to get Jack up for his meds. He stumbles his way into the other bedroom, using the flashlight on his phone to squint at the name on the pill bottle.

After filling a glass from the sink faucet, he moves to wake up Jack, who's snoring louder than Bitty has ever heard him. He has his right arm thrown over his head and his left tucked close to his torso.

"Jack," Bitty says, touching Jack's shoulder. "C'mon. You gotta wake up, honey."

Jack barely moves, just pries his eyes open and opens and closes his hand above his head. "Wut?"

"Gotta take your meds, Jack. Here," Bitty says, placing the pills in Jack's hand. "And here's the water."

Jack swallows the pills and chokes a little on the water. He coughs, then gasps with the pain. Bitty takes the water from him and puts it on the night stand, moving to stroke Jack's hair soothingly until his breathing evens out.

"Go back to sleep, baby."

"Mmkay," Jack whispers, eyes falling shut.

Bitty stays until he's sure Jack is asleep, then drags himself back into the other bedroom to pass out on the bed again.

The next time Bitty wakes up, he's confused. It feels late, and it feels like he's been asleep for a long time. He feels sluggish and groggy, and he rolls out of bed to check on Jack.

When he stumbles out into the hallway, he knows he's been asleep for way longer than he anticipated. The whole apartment is lit up with the bright sun of the middle of a winter's day.

"Hey Bits," Jack's voice says from the vague direction of the couch.

"Jack!"

Bitty rushes over. Jack is curled on his side on the length of the couch, watching something mindless on TV.

"Morning."

"How are you feeling? I'm sorry, I was going to set an alarm but I guess --"

"It's fine Bitty, don't worry. We had a late night." Jack shifts a little on the couch. "To be honest I've been dozing off and on all morning after I took my meds."

"But you took them?"

"Yeah. And I texted the guys. And the coaches, but they already knew. And I called my parents."

"You're all on top of it."

"I don't feel as out of it as I did." Jack shifts a little. "I still feel a little weird, though."

"You're still on pain meds, just not quite as strong. Are you in a lot of pain?"

"Eh. It's not great but it's manageable."

"Have you put any ice on it?"

"Not yet. Oh, hey, look at this --" Jack starts pulling himself upright.

"Oh, Jack, you're fine, stay down --" Jack pulls up his shirt.

" _Holy shit_."

"I know, right?" Jack says wryly.

Jack's chest and side is decorated in purple and red splotches, with areas of light blue that suggest the bruise hasn't completely come to its full potential. Bitty's side aches just looking at him.

"Oh, sweetpea."

"Looks pretty ugly, doesn't it?"

"It looks like it hurts. Let's get some ice on that."

Bitty gets Jack settled to his satisfaction on the couch with a bag of ice. "So what happens now? What does being injured look like for you?"

"Probably rest at home for this whole roadie, it's not like I'm going to go with them. Maybe some appointments, but that's it. After that, I might try to go to some games and practices, see if I can have any input. Hopefully I'll get cleared to work out and skate, no contact, then contact, then I'll get to play again."

"So. . . you'll have a lot of free time coming up?"

"Yeah?"

"Okay, so," Bitty is biting his lip, "I wasn't going to ask you because you have practice and a game that day, but I've been doing Thanksgiving the last couple of years with my rommates and their friends. We all cook and it's pretty fun. Would you want to come?"

"Yeah," Jack says. "Yeah, that sounds good."

"I thought maybe you might like something to look forward to that wasn't health related." Jack cranes his head to kiss him.

"I do. Thank you."

 

* * *

 

Jack's dad calls him when Bitty is making a late lunch.

"Hi Jack, how are you feeling?"

"I'm all right," he says, mouthing 'it's my dad' at Bitty. "Pain meds are making a dent in it, at least."

"That's good. Hey, listen, since your schedule is so much freer now. . . what do you think of your mom and I coming down for Thanksgiving? American Thanksgiving, obviously. Meet Bitty in person and have a family dinner."

"Oh," Jack says, blinking. "Oh, um. Kind of. Beat you to the punch there. Bits and I already have plans."

At that, Bitty pulls his head up from the soup to make a questioning gesture at him. Jack shrugs and waves him off.

"What are they?"

"We're having dinner at his place with his friends. And then I have to go to the game."

"Perfect! How about your mom and I come down Wednesday, we'll leave you two alone for the day, and then Bitty can come to the game with us?"

"Oh, I don't --"

"Why don't you ask him if that sounds good?"

Jack sighs. "Here, why don't you two talk?" He hands the phone off to Bitty who is really confused by now.

"Hello? Oh, hi. Oh! I don't see why not. Yes, we should be done by then. Yep. I can always make my roommates do it, haha. All right, you too. Bye." He hands the phone back to Jack.

"Great! That's settled."

Jack sighs. "So, Wednesday?"

"Probably Wednesday night. Should we get a hotel?"

Jack rolls his eyes upwards and prays for patience. "You know you're always welcome here. I have two bedrooms."

"Well, yeah, but if Bitty is going to be staying with you then we wouldn't want to, ah, _intrude_ \--"

"Bye, Dad."

As soon as Jack and Bitty start eating their soup, Jack gets another phone call.

"Hey kiddo," Marty says. "What's the damage?"

His old captain's voice sets him at ease.

"Three ribs. Broken. Six weeks."

"Ouch." Marty clicks his tongue. "Hey, listen, Thirdy and I are having dinner together next weekend. Do you want to come? It'll be like old times. Captain dinner. Do you still do those?"

"Yeah, we do them. Hold on." He mutes the microphone to turn to Bitty who has one eyebrow raised. "Do you have plans for next Saturday?"

"Not at the moment."

"Do you want to have plans?"

"Depends. I'll have you know I've never been this popular in my life."

"Dinner with Marty and Thirdy?"

"The guys that retired last year? Sure."

Jack unmutes the phone. "Sure, I'll come. Can I bring my boyfriend?"

"You. . . of course you can."

"Awesome. We'll be there."

"You're kind of snarky like this," Bitty comments once Jack hangs up.

Jack just shrugs.


	6. Chapter 6

Bitty's next two months following Jack's injury are much the same as the twenty four hours after: hectic.

First, there's dinner at Marty's.

 

* * *

 

"Hey kiddo," Marty says when he opens the door. "About time you came around."

"Hey Marty," Jack says, smile easy. "This is Bitty. Bitty, this is Marty."

"Good to meet you," Bitty says, trying not to show how nervous he is.

"Good to have you here, Bitty," Marty says genuinely. "Come inside, meet everyone. I guess you can come too," he says to Jack, who rolls his eyes, still smiling.

Inside, Bitty meets Gabby, Carrie, and Thirdy, the latter of who immediately begins giving Jack a hard time.

"Dude, I didn't think we needed to teach you that you're supposed to go _over_ the board to the bench, not through it."

"Tell the Red Wings that," Jack quips back, sinking into a seat at the kitchen table like he lives there.

"Three ribs?" Gabby asks.

"Yeah. I might be back by Christmas."

"Don't push it," Marty warns. "I'd rather see you come back later than get back in there early."

"I know, I know. Hey, where are the kids?" Jack asks, looking around.

"Birthday party and a playdate. We figured it worked out well since you're probably not up to playing Tackle Go Fish."

"Tackle Go Fish?" Bitty asks, one eyebrow raised.

"Like regular Go Fish, but when I tell one of the kids they have to go fish they tackle me."

"Oh boy."

"It works out because Izzy is almost too old for Go Fish and Brandon is a little young. Well, it works out for them. Not so much so for Jack."

Jack shrugs. "They're fun."

"Oh, shit, Randy, tell him," Carrie insists, smacking Thirdy's shoulder.

"Tell him what?"

"About Izzy and the game."

" _Oh_. Okay, yeah. So Carrie and I were talking about you going down, right? And it was pretty obvious you were hurt and we were trying to get more info. I was joking that you could have died and they would just call it an upper body injury. So then, about three minutes later, I got the notification that it was an upper body injury and I turn to Carrie and I'm like 'well guess he's dead now' but Izzy had just walked into the room --"

"Oh no."

"She was bawling," Carrie says. She turns to Bitty. "We just lost our first goldfish a week ago, so we're a little traumatized by the facts of life in this house at the moment."

"Poor thing," Bitty says. "She sounds sweet though."

"The kids are pretty great," Jack says. He leans in conspiringly to Thirdy. "So, no more goldfish, and you're retired. Does that mean you're finally getting a D - O - G --"

"You're on thin ice, Zimmermann," Carrie warns him. Marty and Jack laugh. "But maybe."

 

* * *

 

Then Thanksgiving.

 

* * *

 

Bitty drops a cup into the sink and it breaks.

"Are you all right?" Jack says, wandering over from the living room.

"I'm sitting with your parents for the game," Bitty says, wide eyed and panicky.

"Yes. Take a deep breath Bits, you're panicking a little."

"Your parents are _famous_."

"My parents are _ridiculous_. I mean, I love them, but they're absurd. And they already love you. Don't worry about it."

"Your parents are _famous_ and someone is going to notice when I'm at the game with them."

"Oh." Jack realizes what the problem is. "Yeah. The media. . . might notice. They might not. They can be pretty oblivious."

"But what if they notice?" Bitty says. "You made _national headlines_ when you came out, Jack. You won a Stanley Cup! I'm going to be twenty five and barely graduating with a Bachelors. People have _PhDs_ by twenty five."

Oh. Jack sees what's going on now.

"I didn't graduate until I was twenty five," he reminds Bitty. "And I'm doing all right."

"Exactly!" Bitty says, throwing his hands up. "You're _you_ , and I'm _me_. I'm not really ready for the media to decide I shouldn't be dating you."

"Do. . . Do _you_ feel like you shouldn't be dating me?"

"What?" Bitty says, finally looking at Jack's face. "Oh, no, sweetpea. That's not what I'm talking about. I'm in love with you. I'm in this with you. I'm just not ready for the media scrutiny."

"They get bored eventually. I can talk to management and see if someone in PR can talk with you about it, though."

"That might be a good idea," Bitty concedes.

"And Bitty? You're amazing. I'm constantly impressed that you are where you are. Graduating at twenty five? It's not a consolation prize. It's fucking _incredible_. You're incredible."

Bitty opens his mouth to argue. Jack shushed him gently and pulls him close -- gently, because his chest still ten different colors of bruise.

"Trust me, Bits, I'm the low self esteem expert."

"I don't have low self esteem," Bitty says, muffled against Jack's chest.

"No, but you're having a moment of it. Which is fine, but --" Jack kisses the top of Bitty's head. "But you've been through a lot and you're still here and you're doing what you want to do. I'm really proud to be with you. Let the media say what they're going to say."

 

* * *

 

Then the first time they try to have sex after.

 

* * *

 

"I'm scared I'm hurting you," Bitty admits, hovering over Jack on his bed in his underwear. Jack's been naked.

"You're not," Jack assures him.

"I know, but I'm scared I'm going to." Bitty slithers down the bed, until he's even with Jack's hip. "And it was kind of killing the mood. So I'm going to put a pin in that plan and do this instead." He kisses Jack's stomach. "Is that okay?"

"Very okay," Jack says, breathless.

Bitty is good with his mouth. For the most part, Jack tries to lay back and enjoy it, staying relaxed because breathing hard hurts like a bitch still. He asks Bitty to keep going when he pushes a finger up against his ass, and lets out a breathy moan when Bitty's finger grazes his prostate while his mouth sucks hard at the head of his dick.

He tries to stay relaxed as he comes, but it's impossible. It feels too good and he moans as the pleasure crests, toes curling, then shouts in pain as he comes, because he feels like someone has double fistedly punched him in the chest. He shudders and tries to breathe as shallowly as possible while the pain ebbs away.

"Oh, honey, are you okay?" Bitty says, concerned.

" _That_ hurt," is the most intelligent response Jack can come up with. Bitty is propped up on his side next to him, face full of concern. "Sorry."

Bitty shakes his head. "Don't be sorry. _I'm_ sorry."

"Not your fault. It was just the. You know, last part. That hurt. Not your fault at all. I should have known better."

"Do you think you made it worse?"

Jack takes a moment to take inventory. The pain isn't sharp anymore, just slightly more than the dull ache it was before he and Bitty went to bed. "Nope." He glances at Bitty. "Can I do something for you?" he says, hoping Bitty catches his drift.

Bitty shakes his head again. "Uh, no. That was a pretty effective boner killer. I'm about as soft as a marshmallow."

"Honestly, it wasn't the _worst_ orgasm I've ever had."

 

* * *

 

Bitty gets even busier towards the end of November, finishing the paper for his internship class. He's been telling Jack about it as he goes, because it turns out Bitty was doing more than just making themed concession food while at the arena.

"It's a little weird," Bitty confesses. "Because I'm the only one who worked there before the interview. So I have a really different perspective on it as a business and I'm scared that's going to fuck over my grade."

Bitty is stressed though, and Jack doesn't have as much time as he would like to devote to making sure he's okay. Instead, he extends something that he hopes will help.

"I made you a key," Jack says, handing over the envelope from the hardware store. "I figured you might want to study here sometimes if I'm not here. A little quieter than your apartment."

"Are you sure?" Bitty says, taking the key. "Do you want to set some boundaries? I'd love to be here more, but I don't want to bother you or --"

"Bitty. If it were possible, I'd love it if you were here all the time. I know that's not possible because you've got work and school and you have to live in your apartment for all of that. But were it not for all of that, I'd ask you to move in. So please, use that as much as you want."

 

* * *

 

And then there's Jack. Having avoided an injury catastrophic enough to keep him off the ice for most of his career, he finds himself with more free time than he's ever had in his adult life, especially when the Falcs are on the road.

 

* * *

 

"'allo?" Jack says, rubbing his eyes and sitting up fully in bed. He's still wary of certain positions, but for the most part, the pain is starting to get less and less. He has an appointment with Ryan on Thursday and he hopes they'll at least clear him to skate lightly.

"Jack," and it's Joey, frantic and panicky.

"Joey, hey, what's wrong?"

Bitty stirs next to him.

"We were at dinner --"

"Who's we?"

"Me and Andrew."

Oh. Of course. The Falconers are in Winnipeg. Joey's boyfriend.

"And Tater and a few of the guys showed up."

Oh, Jack's poor, anxious rookie.

"What's wrong?" Bitty murmurs, leaning in rest on Jack's shoulder -- gently, without most of his weight."

"Rookie," Jack says by way of explanation. He kisses Bitty's temple. "Go back to sleep." Jack stands up to get out of the bedroom and leave Bitty alone.

"Okay, sorry. Tater and the guys? Did they say something?"

"Not -- Kind of? Tater did that -- thing with the eyebrows."

Jack sighs. He knows those eyebrows.

"I'm going to be really honest with you, and I want you to remember that I've been where you are right now, okay? You can either be honest, or you can hide. Both are completely correct answers. If you're honest, there's no going back. But you have to pick, and if you pick to hide, you'll have to keep picking that option again and again. And one day you won't want to take that door anymore. Just keep that in mind. You'll be fine either way, I promise."

 

* * *

 

"Dex," Jack says when he finally, _finally_ gets him on the phone. "I need to borrow your flannel. Yeah, all of it, if that's okay."

 

* * *

 

"Bitty!" Jack says as he throws open the front door, happiness bubbling up in his chest. "I -- are you okay?" he says, the slightly shellshocked state Bitty is in.

"I'm fine," Bitty says, before handing Jack the paper he had been clutching in his hands.

Jack sees that it's from the Red Sox, and his heart sinks. Surely, with Bitty in the state he's in it can't be --

"You got it?" Jack asks, not trusting his eyes to read it right. Bitty nods, still wide eyed and shocked. "You got it!" he all but shouts, picking Bitty up and swinging him around in a gleeful hug.

That knocks Bitty out of his state.

"Jack, be _careful_ , you'll hurt yourself --"

Jack is already shaking his head before Bitty finishes, wide grin still in place. He sets him down gently.

"I got cleared. I'm playing on Saturday."

Bitty jumps back into his arms, wrapping his legs around Jack's waist, grabbing his face between his hands and kissing him, and kissing him, and --

They don't get around to telling anyone else for a while.

 

* * *

 

Providence Falconers @PVDFalconers  
Merry early Christmas! #CaptainJack is back!

 

* * *

 

Jack spends the first week and a half of Bitty's internship framing pictures.

He starts with pictures he's taken. He hangs the pictures from the photos published in Perspective magazine in expensive illusion frames in the front hallway where they can be seen in sequential order, seeming to float on the wall.

Jack had bribed Lardo and Nursey with the good alcohol his parents keep at his place for special occasions to help him come up with the order and artist statement. He tried to do it himself and failed, eventually deciding there's a reason he's a photographer and not a writer.

"If this was for anything other than a pretentious photography contest, I would fine the fuck out of you for these," Lardo says, waving the prints that have Bitty featured in them.

Jack shrugs. "He's a good model."

"I think you should bookend it with these two," Nursey says, snatching the pictures from Lardo. "Because they're the only two with people in them."

"And you've only got Bitty in the first one, with the jars of jam. And then there's two people's hands in this one -- so you're adding people into it, you know? Progression."

"Yeah."

"Okay, so -- let's start with this one --"

_The back of Bitty's head, the cowlick he can't keep down that Jack adores. The slight raise of his shoulders showing a hint of discomfort, the tilt of his head showing that he's looking up at a row of jam and jelly jars arranged in a near perfect rainbow._

When Jack looks at that picture, he thinks about that first date, the chaos of it, but the easy way he and Bitty worked together, talked together, ate together. How that first kiss had soothed something in him, a sensation he gets every time he's in Bitty's company, like something slots into place like the satisfying click of a camera shutter.

"I think this one next," Nursey says, handing over the next picture.

"Ooooh, yeah, definitely," Lardo says, nodding. "Jack, how much processing did you have to do to get the colors like this?"

Jack shakes his head. "Not a lot. Barely any, really."

_A typical urban street, a typical sports bar, with flags flying out front. The picture is taken from the sidewalk, at a sharp angle. Providence's baseball team's flag in front from this angle, the colors of the rainbow flag peaking out behind, the Falconer's flag only just visible beyond both flags. It's a washed out, gray background indicating a gloomy day and making the flags vibrant and an easy center._

A fall day before he even met Bitty, before he knew what the next few months of his life would entail. Even then, walking past a gay bar in the middle of the day had sent mixed feelings through him when he took the time to pay attention to it.

"And since, we're ending with the other one, this one has to go next."

"Dude, this one is heavy," Lardo says. "It's my favorite."

"How many shirts did you end up borrowing?"

"Fifteen, I think. I think most of those came from Dex, I got a few from Lardo, some from Bitty, Shitty and Holster. Plus mine."

_A closet, filled with plaid. Red plaid on the left, then orange, yellow, green, blue, and finally a few purples. Taken from a far enough angle to see the frame of the closet, and the door that's normally closed._

It's the most deliberate of all the pictures Jack has put in the set, the only one where he planned it before hand instead of noticing potential already there. He'd had to collect all of the shirts, then place them in the closet, the staging measured and even, like everything he did around that time. Broken ribs were not good for spontaneity or hurry.

"And that leaves this one," Nursey says, laying the last one next to the other three.

The three of them just look at it.

"That's my favorite," Jack confesses.

"Bro," Lardo says, making the word affectionate in the way only she and Shitty have managed. "This is going to be everyone's favorite."

_White sheets, blue shadows from a snowy day. Jack's larger hand, Bitty's smaller hand, intertwined and cushioned on a pillow like museum pieces on pillowed pedestals. And then, off center, on a piece of pillowcase pulled flat by their hands, a perfect prism rainbow, small and delicate but the most vibrant colors, branded across where they laid their hands._

Jack thinks of Bitty stuck in the snow, letting Jack help him in a way that Jack's come to realize Bitty doesn't normally let people help him. Bitty, going from cold and miserable and frustrated to warm and content and open, falling into Jack's arms, Jack's bed, Jack's future, confessing his love quietly as if Jack could do anything but love him back, wholly, completely.

Jack leaves the front hallway for pictures he's taken. But the living room walls, his bedroom walls -- most of those are pictures other people have taken.

_Jack and Bitty at  Fenway Park, when Bitty went up for a weekend to look at places to stay. "Dude," Lardo had finally said, elbowing Bitty in the side as he ranted through the first inning about rent prices. "Just stay with us. Ransom and Holster are moving out, and we can't afford that place on our own."_

_Jack and Bitty and everyone else at the Falconer's New Year party, exhausted from the game and the long night but smiling, even Joey and Andrew. Jack looks at the picture sees the definition of family._

_Bitty's graduation, a picture taken by Bob. Bitty, happy and flushed and grinning in his robes and mortarboard, arms around Jack's neck as Jack is halfway through lifting him in a congratulatory spin. Jack doesn't think about the awkwardness of Bitty's family that weekend, or the fact that his own parents were in town for a second round of playoffs that the Falconers didn't make, and instead thinks of the way Bitty had whispered "it feels like we can start our life now" before letting Jack go to hug his parents._

_The last picture, just a selfie Bitty took of them on the beach on well deserved vacation. Sunglasses pushed up on their heads for the picture, smiling in the sand. It's the picture that looks like how Bitty makes Jack feels._

And that's why Jack wants it on the nightstand, next to their phone chargers and loose change and the domesticity of their life together. He pops the back into place in the frame, and sets it standing up, tall and proud.

"So, did you figure it out?" Lardo had asked when she saw the display for the first time.

"Figure what out?" Jack asks, distracted.

"This," Lardo says, gesturing to the wall. "Whatever you were looking for."

"Oh." Jack pauses, looking over the pictures, hearing Bitty laugh in the kitchen with Shitty. "You know what, I think I did."

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to my beta, Laney, who's blog is wjpoindexters and which I'll hyperlink too when I'm not on muscle relaxers, and everyone at the Haus OMGCP discord server. They're truly some of the best and most supportive people I've had the pleasure of chatting with.


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